A Soul Seeking Holy
by kysis-the-bard
Summary: What would have happened if Gast hadn't abandoned the Jenova Project and stayed around to raise Sephiroth instead of Hojo? This is what I think would have gone down. Eventual yaoi with Sephiroth x Genesis. Please R&R!
1. Prologue: What Have We Done?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own FF7 or any related materials, those are all Square Enix. This writing, however, is mine.

**Warning:** eventual yaoi, eventual dark stuff, etc. Possible language, alcohol, unethical scientific practices and other such, possibly sensitive topics. If any of these things bug you, turn back now.

**Author's Note:** so, I asked myself earlier today, what if Dr. Gast hadn't died? What if he had lived long enough to raise Sephiroth? That would make him a really different person, right? Well, my muse has latched on, so here we go. I realize this is AU, because of the different Sephiroth and Gast being around. Let a writer have some fun, k? This also means that Aeris was never born. You guys have no idea how happy that makes me.

* * *

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Prologue: What Have We Done?**

"I do not approve of what you are doing here, Hojo."

"You started it." A smile spread on his thin lips, the flickering mako light illuminating only parts of his face, giving it a grotesque look. That light glinted across his glasses, concealing those malicious eyes, though Gast knew exactly what was in there. At one time, he had trusted Dr Hojo. And then, Hojo had been taken over by ambition and became _this_. It wasn't right. "This is your project, after all."

"It was all theory when I worked on it! I never thought it would be put into practice!" Gast took a step forward, tension taking his brows, his jaw, as he saw what was behind Hojo. There was a medical chair, partially reclined, with a woman sitting on it. Gast recognized her immediately, with her brown hair, spun up in a golden ribbon, her pretty face, which was slack now. Lucrecia and Hojo had been inseparable for a while, and now Gast knew why.

She was pregnant. She was the one who was carrying the _monster_ Hojo had created. Gast, even in the dim light, could see the faintly glowing needle on the table next to her. It was empty, but had just recently carried within it mako. It made Gast's stomach flop. She was taking mako treatments as well as the initial intake of Jenova cells. Gast was surprised the baby had not died, or that Lucrecia hadn't. It was… a miracle and a nightmare all the same.

"The child is due in a week's time." Hojo turned back to his computer, no doubt typing up the results of his latest experiment on the duo. It was sickening. But, with her already this far along, it would be even more unethical to abort the pregnancy. There was nothing Gast could do, and Hojo seemed to be relishing in that fact. "Soon, all of the world shall tremble as ShinRa's own personal army is born in this one boy."

There was something he could do.

"If President ShinRa found out about your interdepartmental relationship with Dr Crescent, where would all of your research go?"

The scientist froze, turning slowly, eyes widening behind his glasses. Gast felt a smile of his own twisting onto his lips. Being the head of ShinRa's Science Department had its advantages. For the longest time, Gast was going to abandon this project, leave it behind and never look back. But then he realized, scientists like Hojo and Hollander needed someone to look over them, to serve as a moral compass. Too bad he had found out too late.

"What do you want from me?"

Gast's smile grew. He already knew exactly what he wanted. Though he would not step in and intervene with Hollander, since he had given the children born normal lives with normal parents. Hojo hadn't been planning on doing that with this child. That just wouldn't do.

* * *

The baby made a soft cooing sound. Gast had yet to hear it cry. He moved the blanket away from its puffy, baby-fat face, looking down at it. There was a small amount of hair on its head. For a moment he thought the child would be oddly platinum blond, but upon closer inspection, found out it was even stranger. Silvery, almost white. Gast ran a hand over it, the baby cooing again, opening its eyes just a little.

Those eyes were violet, like Jenova's. That made his stomach clench, his heart too, and Gast held his breath. The child's eyes would not remain that color for long, he knew. Part of the agreement with Hojo was that the boy would receive mako treatments as soon as he was one, and from then on. And, in return, Gast could raise the child. It would make all the difference, he was sure.

Hojo didn't have a human touch. Hojo hadn't even mourned when Lucrecia died in childbirth. Hojo just saw the boy as another experiment, a number in a file.

To Gast, the boy would be more. Hojo had insisted upon his being named Sephiroth, for some reason. It was an ancient term, part of the Tree of Life, which they figured the Ancients had called the Lifestream, before they understood what it really was. And Sephiroth was one of those Ancients, because of Jenova. Gast smiled.

At least something good had come out of this experiment. Gast would make something good out of it.


	2. Chapter I: Duty

**Disclaimer:** As always, I don't own anything FF7. Square Enix does. I just write these weird stories.

**Warning:** eventual yaoi. Language, blood, etc, etc. This fiction is not up to M yet, but it will be eventually. Just watch out for it.

**Author's Note:** I think that if Gast had any say in things, Sephiroth would have ended up quite different, so here it is, what I think would have happened. Don't hurt me? My muse just won't let go of this. It's like it was with The Memory of Falling, and now I can't get free. Oh yeah, Leo Elstair is also part of another of my fics, if any of you remember. Mwahaha. **I have officially proof-read and edited this now.**

* * *

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter I: Duty**

The SOLDIER floor was a welcome haven to return to, with its familiar metal halls and wide, glass windows looking out over the twinkling lights of Midgar. He paused next to the glass, pale nose hovering just moments away from it as he stared out over the view. Normally he was too busy to appreciate it, or too tired by this time of night to. His wide, mako green eyes took in the sight. It made him think about the starry night skies outside of Midgar, where the sky could actually be seen rather than just smog. That star-lit sky was reflected on the ground here, showing across the upper plate.

A black gloved hand trailed over the glass for a moment, before he brought his slit-pupil eyes back into the hall, the present, keen gaze focusing on a clock. It was well past his usual stay out, and everyone not on the midnight shift was already away in bed. Right now it was just him on the floor, but it didn't feel empty. It was calm, relaxed.

Sephiroth knew it would not feel the same way if there was a war.

He moved away from the glass, walking with swift, long strides down the hall, to the Materia Room. His stay in there was brief, Sephiroth returning the materia he had borrowed before going to the elevator, ascending to the Science level. It was his usual routine to check in with Professor Gast whenever he returned from any extended mission, like he was currently, and despite the hour, he did not want to do anything different.

The light was on in Gast's office, and Sephiroth could not help but smile, if faintly. He let his long, gliding steps take him over, and he rapped on the door, twice, softly, as was his signature in this manner. In a moment the door was flung open, aging scientist giving him a look over before nodding.

"You've made it back in one piece."

"Of course." His low voice was barely above a whisper, but carried well, rolling and rich. People were often transfixed by his voice; they said it was calming. That was good, considering it relaxed the other SOLDIERs when he spoke with them, especially before missions. SOLDIERs at ease were SOLDIERs who performed better. In fact, since Sephiroth had ascended to First Class, the success rates on missions had gone up.

It was something Sephiroth took great pride in.

"Are you sure you want to attend the drills tomorrow? If you're just getting home…" the man looked down at his wrist watch with slanted lips, brows furrowing inward. He was concerned, as always. Sometimes Sephiroth felt like Gast was a mother hen. That thought almost made him chuckle aloud. "They're starting at five tomorrow, remember?"

"It won't be an issue." Sephiroth continued standing in the doorway, green eyes scanning the room beyond Gast. There was a desk lamp on, a few books open beneath it. They did not look like lab notes. Personal reading? It looked like Gast had been up and waiting for Sephiroth's return. "I have a duty to my fellow SOLDIERs."

When speaking with Gast, Sephiroth was less guarded, though he was still a man of few words. His statements were to the point, and he tried not flowering up his sentences. That was a waste of breath. Though Gast was a warm and caring guardian, Sephiroth was still part of ShinRa, still had high expectations put upon him. The title of Hero had to be earned, Sephiroth felt, and he was striving every day to live up to it. He had to conserve his energy for things other than weighty speech.

"Then head off to bed!" Gast gave him a pat on the arm, giving a jerk with his head to signal that Sephiroth really needed to head off. With a nod and a curt wave, Sephiroth did just that, making quickly back to the elevator and to the private apartments for the ShinRa elite. Sephiroth did not feel like he fit in there. He was a fighter. He didn't wear suits. He didn't go to board meetings and talk with foreign dignitaries and make life altering decisions for thousands. That wasn't him, but there he was, down the far left hallway, at the end of it, in fact.

It was easy to fall asleep once he got to his usual nighttime state of undress and slid between the sheets on his bed. No dreams nor nightmares riddled his sleep, just rest.

* * *

The sun hadn't even come up over the ridge yet, the new SOLDIER Third Classes facing the direction of that horizon, standing at attention in the early morning darkness. It was cold out, bare arms not helping, but it kept them awake, alert. They were all waiting for it. The prestigious SOLDIER First Class Sephiroth was supposed to be there, an inspiration and morale boost, to witness their training rounds and march.

The anticipation was killing him.

Ever since Leo had first heard about ShinRa, about SOLDIER, he had wanted to be part of it, even before he heard about Sephiroth. They were the same age. Actually, Leo was two years older, maybe three, if he heard right. But the shining star had risen quick, and being raised in ShinRa, had a natural advantage. Leo had to travel all the way from Nibelheim in order to join, and he wasn't regretting it one bit.

Some day, he would be able to return home, a hero. It made him smile wide, that grin all that was visible of his face because of the metal slab they called a SOLDIER helmet. From what Leo understood, the elite ranks of First did not even need helmets, as nothing could touch them. Though at first it had sounded much like an Urban Legend put out there by ShinRa, the more Leo saw of SOLDIER, the more he believed it.

"SOLDIER Third Class Leo Elstair."

Leo stood up at further attention than he already was, giving a quickly snapped, perfected salute. Their commander kept working down the line, making sure everyone was there, in proper place. The commander was being graded as much as they, the performing SOLDIERs, were. Leo knew this, and had even been early despite the chill. He wanted to do this perfect.

Light began to show on the horizon, sky streaked with soft violets and pinks and blues and yellows. Just as the big orb of the sun started peeking over, a silhouette stood before it. Six foot and one inch tall. Leo watched, unblinkingly through his visor, anticipation fluttering in his heart, just as he saw the streaming silver hair flutter in the breeze. It was _the_ Sephiroth.

The man walked with confident, comfortable strides down the hill, sun hanging like a halo behind his head for a few moments before continuing its trek up into the sky.

Roll was finally done, and the drills began. Leo caught himself holding his breath a few times. The silver haired SOLDIER zigzagged his way through their lines, correcting a posture here, a stride there. A warm smile, barely twitching up at the corners of his pale, small lips, gave reassurance.

"What is your name, SOLDIER?"

Leo almost jumped out of his own skin, head staying in line with his march by some miracle as Sephiroth walked beside him. He managed a weak answer, stating his name, trying to keep his stride perfect.

"You have the makings of a First in you. Keep it up."

That made his heart swell, and with a new smile plastered across his face, he finished the drills.

Now he could understand, first hand, why all of SOLDIER was so loyal to the man. He really was the hero—the inspiration, worthy of admiration— ShinRa said he was. Leo was proud to be part of SOLDIER.

* * *

It was not often one got to go outside ShinRa, though Banora wasn't too far a stretch. Almost all of the residents were ShinRa employees, so the little hamlet was a disguised extension of the company, another of its invisible arms. That didn't matter. The rolling green hills and arcing white trees seemed far, far away from the cracked wasteland of Midgar, and it was a welcome relief. Tension was mounting in ShinRa, specifically the Science Department, and Hollander had to get away.

A large metal case in one hand, stack of files tucked under another, he made his way up the last ridge, pausing under the wide loop of Banora's largest dumbapple tree, taking a deep whiff. They were blooming right now. He looked upward, seeing the blue fruit hanging from it, ready to be picked. It was still early in the morning. A group would probably be sent out in a few hours to harvest all the fruit, take it to the refinery he had just passed.

Calling ahead had its advantages.

Both boys were waiting for him in the Rhapsodos house, in the library, where they could work in nice, quiet conditions, and not be disturbed at all. None of the local children came to the Rhapsodos house to pester them about letting the sole child, Genesis, come out to play. Angeal's house was a different matter all together. Everyone wanted to play with Angeal. Everyone just wanted to be in his presence. From what Hollander heard, Angeal had been serving as the entire village's moral compass since he hit puberty. It was a humoring thought, to say the least.

The Rhapsodos parents greeted him warmly at the door, chuckling at the yellow, Banora Juice shirt he had on beneath his open fronted lab coat. He was like a walking billboard at the ShinRa tower in Midgar, a suggestion of Genesis, who made the juice enterprise himself, but Hollander hardly minded. It meant he got free Banora Juice quarterly, so it was worth it.

As soon as the first greetings were over, he forged on up the stairs, going straight to the library. He had been around enough to know the layout of the whole house, the whole village. The fruits of his own research and development in the Jenova Project, the first two children born of it, lived here, in Banora. He had to know the terrain like the back of his hand.

Genesis was sitting comfortably in a plush leather chair by a lamp, a thin, cream hued book open under the light, as he read aloud with his smooth, rolling voice. He was wearing a crimson dress shirt, not buttoned all the way, not tucked in with the sleeves rolled up. His black pant encased legs were crossed, in a dainty sort of way. Hollander noticed a silver earring dangling from Genesis' right ear, a new addition since Hollander's last visit. Everything about the boy screamed gay, though it was technically not any of Hollander's business what Genesis decided to do with his body in his free time, so long as it didn't involve dipping into mako springs or getting injured somehow.

Angeal wore a plain black t-shirt and ratty jeans. He was barefoot, to no surprise. He sat straight backed on a stiff, minimalist chair which looked totally out of place in the rich, dark, overstuffed nature of the Rhapsodos library, but that was Angeal. His black hair was worn long, and he kept pushing it back. Though he tried seeming attentive, there was unmistakable boredom in his eyes.

Well, this certainly was going to be interesting.

Not saying a word yet, Hollander started unpacking his case, setting up the small machine he needed on the table that housed Genesis' lamp, taking out the vials of mako and being sure none had broken on the jerky helicopter ride over. Sometimes Hollander wondered if the standards really were that high for the Turks, considering. The redhead pilot had been nervous, and he kept snickering in said nervousness. Hollander had never seen him before, though he recognized the bald man next to him with the sunglasses, Rude. At least Rude's copiloting had stabilized the craft somewhat.

That redhead would learn quickly or be eliminated. That was how things worked in ShinRa. In fact, that was one of the things Gast had used to strong-arm Hojo into giving up his experiment, or at least give up the raising of it. From what Hollander heard, Hojo was threatened with being fired, and they all knew what happened when ShinRa scientists were fired. They were killed, plain and simple.

Hollander started the tests, Genesis not even putting down his book or blinking as Hollander put a needle in his arm. This particular redhead had gotten used to it. There was even a slight mako sheen to his dusty blue eyes. Angeal's brown eyes were starting to look more like a dark blue, the only sign of the mako in him. It was interesting. Hollander remembered when Sephiroth was just a child, how he had had violet eyes, such a rich, startling shade of purple. And now, they were completely a light, mako green. It was a testament to the treatments he underwent, and just how long he had been treated, which was considerably longer than this duo.

It made Hollander feel like he was behind the curve, and he had to say something.

"So… have either of you thought about moving away? From Banora?"

"And why would I want to do that?" Genesis' voice was far, far away. He turned the page, eyes still locked on the words, recrossing his legs over the other side. There was disinterest in Genesis' voice, which bothered him the most. Genesis had made quite the comfortable life for himself here in Banora, one where he didn't have to do anything to acquire wealth and recognition. He was the head of a Banora White harvesting empire. Genesis had the world to lose, if he stepped out of the safe shelter of his accomplishments in Banora.

Angeal, on the other hand, had everything to gain. He wasn't from a well off family. Gillian had been chosen because she, much like Lucrecia, was a scientist for ShinRa, only Lucrecia hadn't survived where Gillian had the strength to. Technically, genetically, speaking she was the mother of both of them. However, since Genesis had grown in another womb, and been conceived of two different people (the Rhapsodos couple), even with the genetic grafting he came out quite different in appearance. Such was the ins and outs of a science none of them truly understood, but tried playing God with anyway.

There was a glint in Angeal's dark eyes. Hollander could see it. Also, the boy leaned forward a little, earnestly. He was eager to know where Hollander was going with this, so with a smile, Hollander kept running his test on the older of the two, speaking as he plugged along.

"There are so many chances for greatness outside this little speck on the countryside. Like SOLDIER, for instance. What do you two think about SOLDIER?"

Genesis snorted, rolling his eyes as he turned another page. Surely he had that damn epic poem memorized by now? Hollander sighed. Angeal looked interested, still, but he was the less gifted of the two. Yes, he was still gifted, but it was Genesis that Hollander wanted to do something with. Why was the genius of the two being such a pain?

"Well?"

"The men of SOLDIER have the strength and will in order to help people, all around the world. It is their duty to protect people. It is an honor to be accepted in." Angeal smiled wistfully. From the sound Genesis made, Hollander knew they both could tell what was coming. "I've always dreamed of something like that. Being able to do so much more, but I'm needed here."

That was a bubble buster. Hollander had been hoping that Angeal would help him convince Genesis to go along. But no. Angeal felt like he was needed here. His father was always off working, hard labor that aged him far advanced of his years. His mother was weak. Hollander could not tell if it was natural in her family, or a direct result of the experimentation. He hoped neither, that it was just a passing thing. A phase.

This was more than a little frustrating. His two great creations, the labors of his life, were not interested in the glory they were made for. For a moment there, it felt like Hojo was going to win.

But then a plan started hatching. Hollander kept working away, taking all the measurements he needed, injecting a new dose of mako before moving on to Angeal, repeating the process. There were more important things to take care of, like getting the boys more interested in SOLDIER. Hollander had the perfect way to do that.

Finishing up, he stepped out into the hall, phone open, pudgy fingers dialing the number he needed before pressing the phone up to his face. He spoke quietly, not wanting to leave the Rhapsodos house because it actually had reception, but not wanting them to hear his plot all the same.

"Hello Director. I've got a question for you. Ever been to Banora?"

* * *

Everyone was waiting in breathless anticipation, milling in the little valley created by the village proper, staring up at the bright arc of the massive Banora White tree for any sign. It was coming soon. Genesis' mako enhanced ears had heard the motorcade approaching, and doors slamming as people got out. It was not often that executives came to visit Banora, to give their good will, though it did happen now and then. It happened enough that Genesis had grown used to it.

The roof of Angeal's house was the perfect vantage point for watching it all. From there, they could see everything, and not have to deal with the press of people milling about, with all the sweat from so much body heat, and heads getting in the way. Nope. Genesis was much happier sitting comfortably up on the roof, with a basket of Banora White apples and Angeal beside him.

As the first of the forms emerged over the hill, Genesis sat up straight. He squinted, shielding his eyes from the glaring sun. The sky was bright blue and clear, a perfect day for an event like this, but it made it hard to see when looking towards the sun. That first form had a long leather coat, from what Genesis could see, with gleaming metal pauldrons over his shoulders. Who wouldn't know who that was?

A beeping noise awakened him from his staring, Genesis jumping, pulling the pager off his belt and reading the message. _Get up here now. I'm not presenting this pie for you_. Giving a chuckle, Genesis bid Angeal a brief farewell, hopping down from the roof and onto a large stack of wood at the house's side, and then to the ground from there. It was easy for him. He was strong already, lean, and could move almost like a blur. Mako only enhanced that. Genesis only used it for fending off the local kids from _his_ Banora White tree, though. That was hardly a test of his skills.

With a natural confidence, oozing from his stride like an aroma, or aura, Genesis made an easy, straight line through the path, the people parting for the Mayor's son quickly. Genesis held a lot of respect in the village. His business ideas had raised the living standard in Banora for all of them, created new jobs, and given the place a name on the map. They were all proud of him like they were proud of their village now.

It was a start, but Genesis wanted a wider limelight than just that within Banora. Yes, he had some international recognition for his pie, which was absolutely amazing, and his genius, which was equally as great. Genesis had never been modest. Why start now? He was wearing red again, a v-necked top with long sleeves, said sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and black pants again, with boots over them, laced up to his knees. He liked those boots. He had worn them in enough that they were beyond comfortable and maneuverable, which counted when he and Angeal horsed around with some of the local monsters, which wasn't all that often, considering Hollander would probably castrate them if he found out.

That would be a fate worse than death (at least for Genesis, as he doubted Angeal even used them).

Soon enough he was at the front of the crowd, just a stride back and to the left of his father. A coil of steam wound its way up from the pie, the rich, spiced aroma of it catching Genesis' nose and drawing a wicked grin from him. If Genesis' minorly mako enhanced senses found the pie that damn appealing and intoxicating, he wondered what ShinRa's Hero would feel about it, considering he was supposedly that much more tampered with scientifically. Would it drive him up a wall?

It would be an interesting social experiment, to say the least.

Oh Goddess, he was starting to sound like Hollander. That almost made Genesis gag, though he hid it behind his smirk and his eyes, which twinkled with a challenge. Genesis was always challenging people with his eyes. The weak shied away immediately, leaving Genesis with only the interesting sorts, whom wouldn't be too daunted just by his presence. It sure made his love-life interesting.

The group was finally almost to the table, the great Sephiroth at the head of them. Genesis had read about Sephiroth, many times. The silver haired teen made Genesis think of the hero in _Loveless_, and because of that, he couldn't help but admire the man. He was a bit… more effeminate than he had been expecting. Silver hair framed his chiseled face, about at chin length, while the rest of his hair fell in molten streams down his back, just past his waist. He was thinner than Genesis expected too, though still much more muscled than Genesis, which he could see from the fact that Sephiroth did not wear a shirt, only that long leather coat, which did not hide all his chest. That looked like a marketing scheme if ever Genesis had seen one.

'Join SOLDIER and you'll be build like _THIS_!!' Just imagining it made Genesis smile a bit more, having to bite his bottom lip to stop himself from bursting out laughing.

The SOLDIER stopped just before the table, before the pie, and Genesis could see those strange, slit-pupil eyes shut, and hear the intake of air through the man's nose. A soft smile touched his lips, completely unexpected from such an angular, defined face, such sharp eyes, which reopened and focused on him.

"A taste of Banora?" Genesis leaned forward on the table, both hands splayed on it, that smirk only tugging one side of his lips up. He looked down at the pie before looking back up into Sephiroth's eyes, locking with them. The teen, just a little younger than Genesis (so Hollander constantly told him), did not look away from him, nor did that smile fall.

"I'll be back for it."

That _voice_. It was low, with barely a thread of emotion laced through it. It was just above a whisper, but Genesis could feel it so clearly, it was almost as though it was spoken in his ear, or in his mind for that matter. A chill ran up his arms.

Not waiting for the introductions from the Mayor, Sephiroth continued down the line, giving short nods to those who greeted him, waiting patiently off to the side as President ShinRa had a few words with Genesis' father, the head of the Turks hovering ever at his shoulder. There were no scientists in the group, much to Genesis' surprise. He was expecting to at least see Hojo or Gast, considering Sephiroth was there, or Hollander, since this was Banora, Hollander's stomping grounds. Guess not.

The newly promoted Director of SOLDIER was there, giving a warm smile, shaking Genesis' hand. The man looked off, considering he had long blond hair, wavy, and a pinstripe suit that showed he was nowhere near as built as Sephiroth and probably would never be. How did such a priss get the position as Director of SOLDIER? There had to be blackmail involved somewhere, Genesis was sure. That was how things worked in ShinRa.

The welcoming party went off without a hitch. The people from ShinRa seemed very happy about it all, besides Sephiroth, who was out of the main crowd, watching in silence. He was as much a guard to President ShinRa and his pretty blond son (in a few years time, Genesis was sure he'd hit that) as was the head of the Turks, whom Genesis heard the name Tseng associated with. Wutaian? Working for ShinRa? Blackmail. Genesis was absolutely, 100 percent positive now.

Soon enough the main population was gone home, dealing with their own dinners, while the executives and their entourage were in the Banora White processing factory, the only place with a big room that had a giant, long table in it. That was where everyone was seated now, most of which just sitting there, discussing things here and there, relaxing in the dimly lit room. Most notably, Genesis saw to his pleasure, was Sephiroth, sitting on the other side of the room from him with a plate, and a good sized piece of pie.

When he took a bite, he would slowly pull it into his mouth, closing his eyes to savor it as he ate. It was obvious, from that alone, that the SOLDIER did not get such delicacies, or anything even close, back in the ShinRa tower of Midgar. This was a special treat. Genesis was very happy to have been the one to provide such enjoyment for the SOLDIER. He was the hero, after all. Why not let him rest for a moment? Why not let him enjoy a moment?

Before their meetings were over, Genesis got up and left, dismissing himself quietly. Those suits were just about to the point of either boring Genesis to tears, or to sleep, neither of which he wanted to do at this point. He was absolutely wired. When Angeal suggested he make the pie for Sephiroth, Genesis had laughed. What would Mister Definition of Badass want to do with a pie? But Genesis was wrong, and he was glad he had done it now.

The moonlight played softly against the green grasses, against the fluttering leaves of arched Banora Whites. The sky was still completely clear, blue-ish stars twinkling up there. The cool breeze was relaxing, to say the least, Genesis breathing it in, letting his steps be slow and rambling. He would take the long way home, meandering this way and that. It was a good way to unwind, otherwise he would never be getting to sleep.

There were mako caves not far from his house. They were hard to get down to. That was supposed to deter people from randomly wandering in there. The mako springs within incubated all sorts of crazy critters which would prove no walk in the park, if ever Genesis ran into one. He didn't want to. Hollander warned him against it, so when Genesis came to the lip of the cave system, he merely cast a glance towards the faint green glow before continuing on past.

A growl stopped him in his tracks.

A cold shiver, the bad sort, went crawling up his spine, fine auburn hairs standing up on the back of his neck. His faintly glowing blue eyes widened, and he turned slowly, seeing it, or at least the light glinting off its sharp fangs.

Gulping, Genesis took a step back, its taking a prowling step forward. The most he and Angeal had dealt with before was animated plants, which were near harmless. There was nothing with fangs, nothing with claws. They could just hit things with their fists and feet and be fine. But this, this had fangs and claws and rippling, thick muscles and was snarling, saliva oozing from its maw. This was a whole different story.

Perhaps he _should_ have taken the faster route home…

With a rumbling growl, it lunged, Genesis dropping into a roll, springing back up to his feet, circling. All he could do was dodge. Could he run back to the facility? It could probably run much faster than him, with its four powerful limbs. Genesis saw another claw filled jump, rolling out of the way.

A flash of metal tore through the air, followed by a yelp. The beast took a staggered step back, still growling, but on the defensive now. The end of that thin, curved sword gleamed with blood, dark red, though the rest of the blade was lit up by the moon. He followed the hand-forged edge of the blade up and up and up and up until it finally met with a small tsuba, and a black gloved hand. That blade was massive!

In a snap, Genesis looked up all together, seeing the narrowed, mako green eyes, which were focusing intently on the creature, so harsh and cold it didn't look like the same person as before. With a few more flashes, so fast they were barely even blurs in Genesis' sight, the creature was limping, badly injured, back into its hole, and Genesis was breathing a sigh.

"Why'd you do that?"

"It's my duty as a SOLDIER." That faint smile returned, along with a touch of warmth to those sharp eyes. With a flick of his wrist, the mighty Sephiroth cleared the blood from the blade, leaving it clean and gleaming. In a flash of green, like the radiance of the mako cave, the massive sword was gone, leaving the silver haired teen's hand empty.

So, that was why he was a hero. Genesis leaned against the rocks nearest to him, breathing out a shaky sigh. That had been close. Too close. But he knew one thing for sure. He wanted— no, _needed_— to be in SOLDIER. Hollander was right.


	3. Chapter II: Flowers

**Disclaimer:** I dun own FF7 or any of that stuff. Square Enix, yadda ya. I just own this bizarre story, 'cause I wrote it. Oh yeah, Leo Elstair is an original character, as is Edwin Murphins. Not that that matters.

**Warning:** eventual yaoi, slight AU, possible language and such. I still don't think this is up to the M rating it is under, but I like covering my ass, because all of my fics eventually end up as M. The site isn't letting me do the normal section breaks, so bear with me.

**Author's Note:** the muse bug bit me. Damn. And I need to start proofreading my work again. Typos suck. If you point them out to me, I'll love you forever. That's right. Forever. And where the hell did this weird plot idea come from, anyway? I've had the original FF7 on my brain lately, I guess…. And sadly, I think Aeris might be in here somewhere, just definitely not in her original roll, that's for damn sure.

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter II: Flowers**

The fields of Banora were going to be a place he missed. Genesis leaned back, laying down on the uneven roof, staring up at the darkening sky. Angeal was already lying down up there, grinning stupidly as the stars started to twinkle into existence.

It was their last night in Banora.

Stories of Midgar, of the ShinRa tower, circulated amongst the people of Banora like a wildfire. Many of them had been to the technological capital of the world, and some multiple times. Genesis hadn't yet. He was going to, though. It was hard to imagine, even with how much he had read. Over the past few days, he had dug up every book he could find in his parents' library about Midgar, and ShinRa itself, finding more about the former than the latter.

It was supposed to be night all the time in Midgar. The whole place was supposed to glow green like mako. Trains zoomed by and around and up and down between the two different regions of Midgar. Yes, the city was divided into many sectors, but there were two definite regions, the lower plate and the upper.

The upper plate was the part Genesis was going to see. All the rich and privileged lived up there, where they could see the artificial sky all the mako pollution created, and where they could see the daunting base of the ShinRa tower rising in all its dark glory. From that tower, all of Midgar (minus the lower plate) could be seen. It was a breathtaking thought, though with all his creative talent, he could not muster a visual image.

He would just have to wait and see.

The wait was killing him. Genesis felt like it was a palpable force eating away at his innards with every second he laid there, gazing up at the stars for one last time. Oh, beloved night sky. Genesis wished it farewell in his head, promising to return some day so long as it waited for him. It was a reference to _Loveless_, the only thing which made him smile right now. There was a burning in his eyes, and he absolutely refused to give into it.

Genesis had made such a big deal about how he wouldn't miss Banora one bit, and how he was going to love finally getting own of the village, and all of that confident front. That wasn't true, but Genesis refused to cry. After the storm he had kicked up, he couldn't.

The bridges were already burning. He had to cross now or get caught in the flame.

In the morning, he would be moving on. For once he was ready ahead of time, with his luggage already packed, with more books than clothing inside. Much wasn't needed, considering that if they got in SOLDIER, they would be wearing uniforms much of their existence now, not casual attire. That was fine. Genesis hated blue and all shades of it (except for his eyes), but that was just more incentive, because he rather liked what he had seen of a SOLDIER First Class uniform, and dammit, he wanted one, and now.

But he would have to work up to it, like everyone else. Even Sephiroth had worked up to it, if Genesis' sources could be trusted. Was that just more ShinRa propaganda, or truth? Genesis would find out soon enough.

He didn't even notice his hands were shaking until Angeal commented on it.

Immediately, Genesis shoved his hands beneath him, trying to concentrate on anything but the fact that he might not see Banora for a good long while, and he might not taste the Banora White for a good long while, and the people… Everything was getting to him, and Genesis had to bite his lip hard to keep it all in.

_Goodbye, sweet Banora. Wait for me, for I shall return…_

And he planned on it.

0 0 0 0 0

It was a small, private promotion ceremony, one Leo relished in. The Director himself shook the three SOLDIER Third Classes, now Seconds, hands and gave them a reassuring smile. That smile was slick. Leo knew it hid a lot, but didn't think anything of it. Everyone in ShinRa had their secrets; that was just a fact of life. There was no need to pry. He wasn't part of the Turks, after all.

It felt good, to be recognized for his hard work. Leo planned on putting in even more. The missions were bound to get harder, more dire. He could help more people. That was what he wanted.

Finally able to stand at ease, the small line breaking apart, Leo let his gaze roam the room, seeing a few executives, Lazard and the head of the Turks talking off to the side. Sephiroth was sitting next to the window, gazing out it with an almost forlorn look to his eyes. That was not an expression Leo recognized from the silver haired teen, and he felt his feet carrying him over before he could mentally register the action.

It was too late by that point, as Sephiroth had already glanced over, nodding in acknowledgement towards the brunette. This was the first time since that encounter on the training field, not all that long ago, that they would speak. It was the second time ever for them to speak, though it had just been Sephiroth talking before, Leo giving only his name that time, which could not possibly be counted as conversation. Now it would be Leo speaking; it was up to the SOLDIER First Class if he wanted an actual conversation, which seemed rather unlikely.

"What's wrong?"

Sephiroth sighed, looking out the window again. His lips remained a straight line, his eyes distant. If Leo remembered correctly, Professor Gast was in Modeoheim, and Sephiroth had just returned from Banora. He was about to get another short mission to Junon. All of SOLDIER knew where Sephiroth was going to be and when, and the silver haired teen did not seem to have any problems with that, what so ever. In fact, the openness of it all was a morale boost, so he willingly divulged the information himself at times.

Shaking his head, Sephiroth made it clear that he did not wish to speak about it. Leo shrugged, getting ready to turn to go. He got half-way swiveled when a low whisper barely made it to his ears, Leo having to strain hard to pick any of it out. "I don't know." After a pause, there was more added. "I really don't know."

Leo turned his head back, but Sephiroth was already staring out the window, eyes completely lost to the here and now. Leo wouldn't disrupt him again. It looked like the silver haired teen needed his time. Letting out a weak sigh of his own, Leo went back to mingle, glancing back now and then. For some reason, despite their ranks, Leo felt like an older brother. He was older, after all.

But right now, it was time to give the hero his distance. The teen rarely got privacy, distance. Leo moved away, and tried not to glance back, but couldn't help himself a few times. That was the least he could do for the hero.

0 0 0 0 0

Gast pulled his thick winter coat closer to his body, trying to fight off the chill the sudden gust of wind brought to him. It was always cold in Modeoheim. It was almost always snowing in Modeoheim. Thick white flakes of snow were drifting down from white heavens at this moment, clinging in pretty patterns to his coat, clinging to his eyelashes, chilling his already red nose.

ShinRa knew he was in Modeoheim, but not why. Gast made sure to bring back new research with each return to Midgar, made sure to look like he was busy at work the entire time. Since he was the head of the Science Department, the creator of the Jenova Project, no one really questioned him. It was a nice freedom to have, considering how little of it ShinRa generally allowed. Retiring and death were synonymous in the company, after all.

There was a briefcase tucked under one arm, held tight so he lost no warmth in the holding of it. Shuffling along through the deep snow, Gast tried moving as quickly as he could. The blizzard looked worse to the north, towards the crater, and that weather was headed his way. He needed to make it to the house— lab— before then.

Ifalna was waiting for him with the door open and a smile on her face, a plum hued shawl wrapped around her, obscuring her face and flowing honey-brown hair. Looking around quickly, to be sure there was no one out and about to see her, Gast darted inside, immediately relishing in the warmth of the fire in the hearth at the far end of the room, as well as the heat generated from so many computers, which Ifalna had obviously turned on to prepare for his arrival.

It was all pretense, but necessary.

"How are you? No one has bothered you?"

With a sweet smile, Ifalna shook her head, brushing back her shawl. These visits were dangerous, he knew. His position only gave him so much leeway, but it also gave him constant watchers. There were ways to mislead them, though. The company knew he was in Modeoheim, but it was a hard place to get to. ShinRa lost helicopters all the time in the harsh climate and sudden storms. As far as Gast knew, they had stopped sending people to supervise him. At least that was what he hoped.

This was a secret he even had to keep from Sephiroth.

"No one from ShinRa has been by in a while. Last I heard, they were even considering closing down the reactor."

That was interesting. Gast turned his head, unable to stop himself from smiling as well. Ifalna was sitting across the room, before the one mirror, brushing out her honey-brown hair. There was a little tent constructed on the far side of the room, of Ifalna's different shawls, and Gast could see through it the faint glow of the white materia which was perpetually tied into Aeris' hair. She was in there, and Gast wouldn't disrupt her, or whatever she was doing.

If ShinRa closed the reactor, there would be more reason for him to have such frequent trips to Modeoheim. The region was rich with mako, and that fact could not be ignored. Gast took mental note, sitting in his usual chair.

Though he wanted to spend time socializing, spend time with Ifalna, there was still work he had to do, so there would be no suspicions. Gast set to said work, relishing in her company alone, the nearness enough for him.

0 0 0 0 0

It was a simple grave. The headstone was low lying, just slightly angled, with austere script etched into it expertly by a machine. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the near-by tree. The graveyard was some ways away from Midgar, so there could be grass, trees. Nature was such a foreign smell to him, after the pollution-laden fare of Midgar proper. Sephiroth took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

Normally he was running between duties, between assignments at all times. Not right now. It was a welcome break, though he would have liked it better had Gast been back from Modeoheim. Sephiroth could not pick and chose. Not now. Not ever. Despite what freedoms Sephiroth knew he had only because of Gast, it was still a hectic, regimented life. In an hour, he had mako therapy with Hojo, and further testing after that. It was a constant cycle.

Kneeling, silver hair brushing the emerald grass which had obviously not been trimmed in a while, Sephiroth lowered the flowers to the grave. According to the books in the ShinRa library, they were lilies, or at least related to them, with their almost bell shaped pedals, perfectly white, a yellow stem extending from them.

Those flowers glowed nearly as much as his eyes, it seemed. Perhaps it was just the light playing tricks, though Sephiroth liked to think not. They were calming, in a way, with a fresh, sweet scent.

He liked to think his mother was like those flowers. He did not know anything about her, other than the fact that she had been a ShinRa scientist. Lucrecia Crescent, the tombstone read. He brushed his gloved fingers over the letters, clearing a thin layer of dust from them. Though he tried to imagine what she looked like, he could not. Did she have violet eyes like he did before the mako treatments advanced so far? Did she have silver hair like him? The only photograph he had seen was in sepia-tones, of her and Hojo together before some equipment in the lab.

That was a grainy picture, so faded he could barely make out any details, other than the fact that she kept her hair long. Sephiroth did too, for that reason.

And then there was the issue of Hojo. That hunch backed, driven near to madness doctor whom conducted test upon test upon test on him. Hojo would not talk about Lucrecia, nor would he answer Sephiroth's questions about who his father was. All he said was that he looked like Jenova more than he did Lucrecia. Who Jenova was… Sephiroth sighed. No one was that giving with answers. He was left in the dark.

In truth, it did not matter all that much. Gast was enough of a father to him to fill in all those extra gaps.

The clearing of a throat behind him brought his mind back to the moment, his location, reminding him of the presence of a Turk not too far behind him. Sephiroth turned his head just slightly, gazing out the corner of his eyes. All he saw was the pressed black suit, though he knew who it was. Just another of those nameless Turks, one of Tseng's subsidiaries Sephiroth had never been formally introduced to, or cared to be introduced to. The Turks and SOLDIER were like oil and water. They were not meant to be mixed.

Standing in one fluid sweep, Sephiroth turned, striding away from the graves with his head held high, jaw-line taut. He was an intimidating figure, though that was rarely his intention. He wanted people to respect him, not blindly fear him. There was a fine line between the two. Repressing a sigh the best he could, Sephiroth hopped up into the waiting helicopter, standing in the passenger bay and waiting for them to take off.

He had an appointment to be getting to.

0 0 0 0 0

The train was late. In fact, that specific train did not even come. Genesis flopped back on the bench, laying down with one foot up on the arm rest, the other leg dangling over the side. It was hardly a modest position, not that it mattered. Only he and Angeal were at the train station anyway, plus a few workers, who did not come out of their boxes.

The next train was supposed to come in another hour.

Boredom was not something Genesis dealt well with. Not now, not ever. He took a deep breath, the expulsion coming with the introduction to _Loveless_, the words floating easily from his lips, musically even. Angeal chuckled, sitting on the bench next to the one Genesis had taken control of, both of their bags next to the raven haired part of the duo.

Flipping the fiery red locks from his face, Genesis continued, making it through the first half of the first Act before he had to pull out his cream hued copy of _Loveless_, reading from then on. Depending on how long the train ride was, Genesis might have the whole thing memorized.

Hell, Angeal might too, if Genesis kept repeating it to him this often.

Angeal didn't seem to mind. He was smiling. Genesis liked the heroics. Angeal liked the recurring theme of honor. To each their own, he supposed. Genesis kept reading, smiling faintly to himself. Though there was still a bored glint in his blue eyes, he was still quite smitten with the whole situation, minus their train not arriving. _Loveless_ wasn't just a hobby. It was a passion. An obsession. Whatever one wanted to call it. Genesis didn't care. He loved the epic poem, and no one, absolutely no one, would change that.

"Why do you think they changed the focus of the play from that of the poem?"

The redhead's mouth was open, ready to spout the next verse, when Angeal interrupted him. Quickly he was up, curling the bench-bound leg up next to him, letting the other still dangle. There was a play made out of _Loveless_, yes, but Genesis had heard nothing about it. He found it surprising, and somewhat alarming, that Angeal would know more about it than him, an auburn brow arcing to show just that. "More marketable? Everyone goes for a good romance."

At that Genesis rolled his eyes, sighing and flopping back down on the bench. Everyone wanted a good romance, with a dashing man in shining armor and a lovely woman in a too small dress. Not him. Genesis was more interested in strength, himself, in power, in assertiveness, nothing the pretty little damsel in distress had. Let the public have their frilly little girls. Genesis would be showing the dashing knight a good time back stage.

"Do you always think about business?"

Shrugging, and making an indifferent sound, Genesis went back to reading again. Too bad that blond, President ShinRa's son, wasn't older. They would have made a real powerhouse couple, if the rumors about Rufus' genius were true. Genesis liked intelligence as much as he liked rippling muscles, he wouldn't lie. As his thoughts wandered, imagining Rufus ShinRa at the same age as himself, Genesis' reading tapered off, and the train game, tooting its horn at them.

Jumping, noting Angeal already has his bag, he jumped inside, door closing behind him just as the train started flying off again.

On to Midgar. On to SOLDIER.


	4. Chapter III: Inspiration

**Disclaimer:** I do not own FF7, or anything related. Square Enix is the amazing company responsible for so many great, slashible characters.

**Warning:** eventual yaoi, just for you people who don't like that, get away now. Possible language and alcohol. Mention of unethical scientific practices, and religiously sensitive topics, perhaps. If any of these are problems, RUN AWAY NOW. Because frankly, I don't want to hear it. Kthnx.

**Author's Note:** I know, I know. Aeris is alive. Don't kill me. And don't worry, she will not be anywhere near anything of importance for a very, very long time. Seriously. I don't like Aeris. However, I am going to start getting into plot now, since I've got some introduction to the idea of this world in here. Now, on to the fun stuff! Oh yeah, and no one worry. There is no Seph/OC. I refuse. REVIEWS ARE LOVE. WITHOUT REVIEWS, I HAVE NO REASON TO WRITE THIS. PLEASE REVIEW.

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter III: Inspiration**

"You're working out a lot lately."

The purr of a voice made him jump, Leo on his feet and spinning into a salute in a fraction of a second. He held his breath once in that stance, head held high, lips pursed shut, eyes fixated close to the ceiling across the room rather than at the one addressing him. At the last minute, Leo corrected the angle of his feet, hoping that minor error had not been noticed before he could remedy it. Then again, this was a SOLDIER First Class who had just addressed him, and Sephiroth to top that.

Who wouldn't be worried?

No one that Leo knew, that was for sure. From what Leo remembered hearing while a Third, most of them would break out in a nervous sweat by just hearing there was a chance Sephiroth would be out on the training field while they were running drills. For some reason, Leo didn't think this was the effect the SOLDIER First Class was going for. Not at all, actually. Leo swallowed back the lump in his throat, still staring somewhere near the ceiling without seeing, refusing to look down.

Though he tried to keep his emotions in the matter towards respect, edging into awe, he couldn't help but fear Sephiroth, and he didn't want the man to see that in his eyes. Leo knew continuing to hold his breath, as he was, was not helping any, but his lungs refused to respond, muscles rigid, at attention. Leo couldn't move. Paralyzed; he had a feeling the SOLDIER First Class wouldn't appreciate that, either, but he couldn't help it. His body just seized up.

"At ease."

Though Leo dropped his salute, spread his stance and clasped his hands behind his back, the line of his shoulders was still taut and his gaze would not waver. It was like his neck had been glued in place. It was true, he had been working out a lot lately, training a lot lately, jumped at every mission to come his way, and actually went out of his way to take up new ones. Leo was eager to please, and couldn't help but be that way.

The title of hero was not what he had his eyes set on. He just wanted to help people. Someday, he wanted to go back to his home village and help all the people there up their standard of living, get on track. He didn't want them to stay up at night out of fear of monster attacks anymore. As a SOLDIER, he could put them at ease. When he became a SOLDIER First Class, the first thing Leo was asking for was a transfer back home, to that outpost, so he could help out. That was his whole reason for joining SOLDIER. His vision had not been lost.

"If you keep this up, you'll be passing me in no time."

Leo couldn't help but hear the smile in those words, slowly letting his gaze drift down, until he locked eye to eye with Sephiroth himself. Those eyes, their bizarre pupil shape and hue, sent a shiver running up his spine. They always did that. It probably wasn't ethical to give a kid mako treatments as early as it was rumored Sephiroth got them, but that was what happened. One could only make due with what they were given, after all. Leo was here, working out after hours, in hopes to get what he had to its full potential faster. It was a good hope, and obtainable hope, and the tone of Sephiroth's voice spoke that clearer than if the quiet man had ever said the exact words aloud.

The fact that Sephiroth was speaking at all was appreciated, really.

"Thank you, Sir." Leo gave a nod; it felt too formal, but it was the best he could manage. "But, if you don't mind my disagreeing, I don't think any of us could even get close to catching up to your skill if you were frozen for four years and we got to fight, fight, fight the whole time." Leo let out a nervous laugh. He didn't mean for it to sound that way.

Now he really just wanted to get out. He was probably making a fool of himself, but he was so set on continuing his work out that he didn't leave. He wanted his privacy back, and to get going again. The rush of his blood was starting to cool down, and that was not a good thing.

"Ah-ha! There you are!" The SOLDIER floor receptionist, someone none of them ever saw very often, took a step into the room, with a warm smile on her painted lips. She stood daintily there in her high heels, completely out of place, two young men following her in. "Boys, this is SOLDIER Second Class Leo Elstair, and he'll be showing you to your rooms in the cadet dorms."

It took all his willpower not to groan. Leo rolled his eyes, turning to face the duo, these 'boys', who had come in after her. One was slightly thicker in build than the other, with black hair slicked back from his face. That face had a hard set jaw line, with dark eyes in it. Dark, piercing, determined eyes. That was always a good look to have for SOLDIER, considering just how much determination it took to get through the initial testing just to get in the cadet program. Most never even made it that far.

The other had red hair, which looked utterly chaotic to Leo, though it very well could have seemed groomed to others. Those blue eyes already had a slightly mako glow to them. That was… abnormal, to say the least. Who got mako treatments outside of SOLDIER? Leo couldn't think of anyone. These two 'boys' were definitely no the average kids coming in to be a hero like Sephiroth, that was for sure. In fact, they had only given a brief glance to the silver haired teen before re-concentrating on Leo, a feat in and of itself. Most people couldn't stop gaping at Sephiroth, or decided not to look at him at all in order to avoid the prior instance. It was sad, but true.

Well, it looked like his work out was entirely over. Leo would have to come back another time.

Giving a mumbled good night to Sephiroth, Leo was surprised to receive a clipped wave and 'take care' back from the man. That was far more friendly than Leo had expected, considering all of the rumors.

But rumors were just rumors, and Leo was starting to learn otherwise. With a fake smile plastered on his lips, Leo led the two young men through the halls, not talking at all until he got to the door with their names on it. That was their stop, so Leo wished them luck and headed off quickly. He had another early morning drill session tomorrow, so he probably should have been in bed sooner to begin with. At least he got some extra work done, though.

0 0 0 0 0

Their train had been grossly late, not that they could tell through the thick smog and perpetual dark of Midgar. As the train slowed, and pulled to a stop at the station, Angeal was already standing at the door, Genesis slowly twisting to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder. There was still sleep in his eyes, though Genesis shook his head, auburn hair falling in a chaotic array around his face, not that he cared. Half stifling a yawn, Genesis hopped gracefully down from the train and onto the landing, hips swaying as he quickly went after Angeal.

It was a surprise Angeal had not given himself a heart attack. A pleasant surprise, but a surprise none-the-less. For the waking moments of the train ride, Genesis had been vaguely worried about his best friend, his only real friend, glancing over between verses of _Loveless_ to make sure the broader though slightly younger was still alive over there. Just as surprising was the fact that Angeal had not fallen asleep, at least pretending to pay attention as Genesis read his way through the epic poem yet again. Genesis was thankful for it.

It would have been crushing had Angeal, especially Angeal, fallen asleep during it.

The ShinRa Tower was like a giant glowing phallus jutting up into the sky. Genesis stared for only a moment, stopping his quick strides to gawk up at it. Was that a symbol of masculine power, or what? Angeal glanced up, shook his head and kept walking, spurring Genesis to hop on after him. Did Angeal not realize what that looked like?! Probably. Sighing, Genesis hurried to catch up again, trying not to snicker.

After walking, and walking, and walking, they were finally there at the front steps, where two security guards stood firm at the door. They asked for identification. Great. Angeal turned and looked back at him questioningly. Double great. This was not going good at all. Genesis pulled his bag around to the front, undoing a few ties and zippers before he was actually in a pouch, pulling out the papers Hollander had given them. Taking a breath and holding it, Genesis held those papers forward.

The guards looked over it, one over the shoulder of the other, and the further down the page they read, the stiffer their posture became. Genesis wished he could see their eyes, but those damn helmets, with three red orbs on the front, were blocking his view of their expressions. He wished he could know what they were thinking, what this meant.

With a grumbled apology, the papers were handed back, and they were motioned inside. There was a big sign on the main floor, detailing that the Exhibition Room was currently undergoing construction and that no one but construction personnel could go within. That also meant that there was absolutely no reason for civilians to be within the ShinRa Tower. It clicked now why the security had been so tight, when Hollander had mentioned nothing about checks until the front desk was approached.

So, they next approached the front desk, Angeal smiling and striding ahead with barely veiled excitement, though he stepped aside again to let Genesis do all the talking, or lack there of in this case. Hollander had been very express about their only handing over the papers. They were not to say a thing about who they are, who they dealt with, anything, just had over the papers and go. For once in his life, Genesis actually complied with the rules without complaining. It was probably for the best. His mouth would only lead to trouble, trouble, and more trouble.

Soon enough they were powering upstairs on a glass elevator, receptionist lady with them, looking at them through the reflection of the glass. Genesis ignored it, catching instead the shrinking city view as they rode their way up the Tower (phallus). The woman looked nervous, in the way she kept fixing her hair and fiddling with her glasses, every now and then smoothing her suit skirt or jacket.

With a ding, the glass doors slid open, the receptionist leading the way, talking briefly to one helmet wearing SOLDIER before leading them down a hall, and into a door. Genesis let his gaze sweep the room immediately, breath catching in his throat as he saw Sephiroth, standing all tall and erect, in there. That wasn't who…. It wasn't, as the receptionist introduced them to the other SOLDIER in the room, who quickly took them out of the room after wishing Sephiroth good night.

They were obviously friends. Genesis felt a pang of envy, but suppressed it the best he could, furrowing his brows in until there were creases, eyes narrowed. Looking angry always kept the questions at bay. Genesis had learned to use it to his advantage. It worked now, too, the SOLDIER Second Class (Elstair?) leading them to the dorms, and the room with their name on it.

Angeal thanked him one too many times, Genesis not even bothering since his friend had gone overkill. Soon Elstair was gone, Genesis slinging his bag to the ground before flopping on his bed.

"We finally made it!"

"Hmph."

"We even got to see _the_ Sephiroth, first night here!"

Genesis rolled his eyes, sitting up only long enough to peel off his shirt before falling back against the bed again. Angeal shot him a glare, entirely ignored as Genesis started on his pants. The clearing of Angeal's throat was the only thing which stopped Genesis from whisking them right off.

"If you don't want to see, turn around."

"You could have a sense of decency. Or shame."

Snorting, Genesis pulled off his pants, slinging them at his bag before crawling under the sheets. Angeal didn't look away fast enough, which was obvious by the angry look on his face. They were best friends. Seriously. It wasn't that big of a deal. Genesis rolled his eyes again, turning his back to the room and shutting his eyes. "Night."

With a loud, frustrated sigh, Angeal gave him a good night as well. Genesis could hear him changing, staying exactly where he was until Angeal said it was safe, at which point Genesis rolled to his stomach, cheek on his stiff pillow so he could quirk an eyebrow at his friend. "You know, SOLDIERs probably have to shower together. And share tents out in the field. Stop being so damn squeamish. You've seen me naked before."

"Not on purpose!"

"Pfft. Like that matters." Genesis stretched from his position, as awkward as it was, shoving the sheets down to mid-drift. It was too hot anyway. "You are going to see cocks galore here in SOLDIER."

"Genesis!"

"What?"

Another over loud sigh came, more like a groan than anything, Angeal burying his face in his pillow. Genesis knew that would be all for conversation. They needed sleep anyway. Mornings would start getting really early now that they had made it to Midgar. Sleep was a must, and Genesis quickly drifted off into it.

0 0 0 0 0

The file was dropped on his desk, papers sliding slightly out of the manila folder, making a fan-like spray on his clean though dust coated desk. Gast stared down at the unmarked file before finally looking up. The hunched stature of Hojo was the first thing he saw, followed by that usual look of disdain, perhaps jealousy, marring his face. There were a few new grey hairs streaking the man's back hair, and deeper wrinkles around his eyes than Gast remembered.

Whenever Gast left on his 'research trips', Hojo was the next in line, and had to not only continue with his own studies and projects, but pick up the slack left by Gast's absence. Something must have happened, otherwise Hojo would not look so thoroughly aged, or sour for that matter, though Gast was used to the latter. Also, Hojo usually slid his reports under the door of Gast's office, or if Gast was in, he dropped them on the desk and immediately left. Hojo was still lingering. Something had most definitely happened.

Gast merely watched the stooping man, quirking an eyebrow as the silence ensued. Clearing his throat, a slender hand balled over his lips in the motion (probably to hide the grimace Gast saw anyway), Hojo finally spoke up, voice ever so hoarse. Had he been yelling? Gast knew he was about to find out.

"_Your_ son has competition."

It took a moment for the words to register, filtering in to his ears and sitting stagnant before it hit. Gast blinked, removing his glasses and carefully polishing the lenses as he thought. It was an automatic response of his, a way to garner more time. Hojo waited, standing there with his hands tucked behind his back. Gast could see those fingers fidgeting in the reflection of the mostly glass door. "Hollander's two projects?"

"Both of them. Here. Getting ready to take the test for admission into SOLDIER."

That was nervousness Gast heard in Hojo's voice. It was an entirely new sound. The man must have been sweating, not that Gast noticed anything. He looked down at the file, flipping it open. There was information on both of the test subjects within, and pictures paper-clipped to the corresponding sections. This was not the report Gast had been expecting, though when he thumbed through it, he found the actual report behind those other details.

"Neither of them received early mako therapy like Sephiroth, so there should be no competition, Jenova cells or no."

A knock came on the door, soft, just knuckles. Gast glanced past Hojo, seeing the tall but lean frame in silhouette behind the glass. It seemed like the old paranoia about saying a name calling the being actually rang true.

"Enter."

Hojo stepped slightly to the side, hands still tucked behind his back, though they had stilled. He did not turn to look as Sephiroth, his _biological_ son, stepped in the room. There was no acknowledgement, not even a slight nod, as Hojo stood there as much like a statue as he probably could. In contrast, Gast smiled, putting his glasses back on. Seeing the youthful, perfectly smooth and chiseled face of Sephiroth made him self-conscious about the deep smile lines on his face, the creases above his brow. He forced that out of his mind, refusing to stop smiling.

"Am I interrupting?" Sephiroth let his eyes slide sideways at Hojo, the only returned acknowledgement, which was very little. If only Sephiroth knew… But he couldn't know. Gast could imagine what a mental blow it would be to discover Hojo, of all people, was his father. Gast shook his head, motioning with a science weathered hand for him to continue. "Doctor Hollander's—"

"We know. Is there a problem?"

"I do not feel I would be able to conduct myself in an unbiased manner during instruction, and would like to be excused from my duties handling cadet activities until their graduation. Director Lazard said he would need more than just my request for this to be done." Sephiroth stood straight backed, hands lax but ready at his sides. There was a flickering of something in Sephiroth's green eyes as he stood there, and for a moment Gast thought he might be holding his breath.

"Why?"

Closing his eyes, Sephiroth let the question hang in the air. A response came, however, just more delayed than Gast expected. "I have been hearing that this is a rivalry which will cause strain within SOLDIER, and that the positions of Doctor Hojo and Doctor Hollander may be compromised in the process."

"That's not all." Gast was a perceptive man. He always had been. That was how he had gotten this prestigious position in the first place.

Letting out a sigh, shaking his head, Sephiroth pivoted on his heel and left, gingerly shutting the glass door behind him. That was entirely unexpected. Gast blinked, staring at the door after Sephiroth left, not sure what to think anymore.

"While in Banora, your son saved the elder of Hollander's tests from one of the monsters of the mako caverns, which had gotten loose." Hojo finally did turn his head, giving a quick glare at the door before refocusing his gaze on the desk, the file. It seemed like everyone had more than one topic gnawing on their minds right now.

"Hmm." Gast folded his fingers together, resting his forehead against them. He needed some time to think, and to catch up on everything which had transpired in his absence. "I'll come up with a solution. Thank you for the report."

Hojo left soon after, Gast waiting until the door was shut to open the file again. He started by reading the information on the elder one, Genesis Rhapsodos, and then skipped over the information on Angeal Hewley before getting to the actual report.

There had been sightings of an Ancient in Modeoheim.

Gast felt like his heart had stopped. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Gast picked up the phone, dialing a number he knew by heart now. Hojo picked up on the other side. No one else knew about this so far, Hojo keeping it to himself, thankfully. Gast told him to burn the files. At the same time, he fed the copy Hojo had given to him through the shredder, watching it be torn apart with wide eyes.

He needed to move Ifalna and Aeris now.

0 0 0 0 0

They wouldn't listen. It had not been something Sephiroth expected. So far, he had gotten anything he asked for, without even having to explain himself. Often it was handed over on a silver platter. This time, it didn't happen that way. Sephiroth turned on the water, putting his hand underneath the tap. It was still cold, and slowly grew in temperature. Years of mako treatment had hardened his skin, though the nerve endings beneath were even more sensitive; it all balanced out in the end. Sephiroth felt the proper heat, and turned it up more, flicking the switch to make the shower head the main receiver of water, and pressure.

This was going to be difficult, to say the least.

He was intrigued, by both of them. Despite the attention he had gotten as a child, as a young adult, he had still been alone in the most technical of senses. Other SOLDIERs were put through a certain amount of scientific experimentation, but nothing like him. He was the only one.

And now there were two more.

Sephiroth wanted to know more.

Letting the towel drop, he stepped into the steaming hot spray, letting the water wash over him, carry away the labors of his day. Though he could not care less if Hollander or Hojo lost their jobs, Sephiroth understood how precarious a balance it already was. With how involved Sephiroth was in the cadet program, it would be inevitable, their interactions. Sephiroth did not want the peace to be disturbed, or fall apart, because of him.

Sighing, he worked the water, and then shampoo, through his long hair, making sure to get all the way to the tips. From the looks of things, there was nothing he could do. This curiosity was insatiable. It wouldn't leave him alone. Even as he made sure all the lavender scented suds were gone from his hair, he kept thinking of the arched white trees of Banora, the smell of their fickle fruit, the sweet yet spiced flavor of the pie.

If he couldn't concentrate, this was going to be insufferable.

Groaning, Sephiroth pushed the water off, neglecting conditioner, or the wait associated with it. The wait would just be torture.


	5. Chapter IV: Expectations

**Disclaimer:** I do not own FF7, or any of the related stuff. Square Enix. Bow down. Story is mine, though. I am starting to believe that Square Enix and Namco own me….

**Warnings:** eventual yaoi, hints of yaoi, unethical stuff, dark stuff, yadda ya. Expect anything? M for a reason? Mwahaha.

**Author's Note:** I should be working on my NaNoWriMo right now, especially since I am over 3000 words behind where I should be. However, since I've actually got a day off this weekend (for once), I should be able to catch up and then some. So, more of this right now, while helping my buddy with his creative writing homework.

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter IV: Expectations**

It was like walking on eggshells and land mines in the Science Department. A triumvirate: Gast at the top with Hollander and himself constantly struggling for the second position in that department. There was no questioning Gast, though. It was always a battle for second best. It never should have been like this.

Hojo wished Gast had just walked out on ShinRa after he found out about the Jenova Project, like he had threatened. That would have left the chair position open for the pickings.

There were other ways to get that top seat, now.

Giving a quick glance around his office, to be sure he really was the only one within, Hojo slowly peeled the file open, hunched over it closely, blocking any potential view. He was alone, but this was still dangerous. In this, he would be risking his own position in the department. At the same time, if it worked, he would be assuring himself a better one.

It felt like tiptoeing through a mine field.

A palpable tension had thickly clouded the floor over the past few days, since Gast arrived back from Modeoheim, since Gast told him to destroy the files Hojo was now reviewing, once again. Had Gast even looked at the details? Hojo had not included everything. There was just clumps of data in Gast's copy.

Hojo had photographic proof of an Ancient in Modeoheim, and said Ancient, the last of her kind, had a daughter. It was too good a prospect to give up. He knew Jenova was not one of these Cetra, like they had first thought. Oh no. Jenova was the Calamity to bring about their destruction. But this woman, with her streaming brown hair and big green eyes, was one of those Ancients, was a Cetra, as was her daughter.

This was too good a discovery to even feel true.

Readjusting his glasses, he flipped through photograph after photograph. This woman, whom Hojo's sources named as Ifalna, had been living in Modeoheim in some time. Supposedly that was where the Cetra had come together and collectively sacrificed their lives to save Gaia from destruction at the hands of Jenova. Hojo did not know the truth in this. Just legends, or was that why Ifalna was the last of her kind?

The little girl's name was Aeris. In all reality, she was not much younger than Sephiroth.

He paused, staring down at one photograph, blinking a few times as he did. That was Gast himself. He knew about the two Ancients… Hojo was glad he had not surrendered the photographs. This would be good leverage, if nothing else.

0 0 0 0 0

"Once a week you come out here."

The smooth, low voice broke him from his reverie, Sephiroth standing and turning in one gliding motion. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped a few loose strands of hair back over his shoulder, green eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Tseng was the one man whom Sephiroth had ever met who would not step back under that glare, who would not stand down. In any other situation, Sephiroth might have respected the Wutaian leader of the Turks for it.

"I am allowed to do as I please in my hours off duty."

Tseng nodded his head, a sharp bob. His eyes, brown and keen, remained sharply, predatory almost, trained upon him, never leaving. It was as though he was on the job. He probably was. ShinRa trusted no one, after all. At least that was what Gast constantly told him, as did Hojo. Sephiroth had yet to see it in action.

Not until now, at least.

"Are you here for more than comments on my weekly schedule?"

"Curiosity." Tseng kept his hands folded behind him, shoulders square, back straight, head held high. His shoulder length black hair was held in a ponytail at the back of his head, neat, functional. Everything about the Turk, the Turks in general, was for function, even their positions within ShinRa. Curiosity did not seem like a good reason, considering.

"About?"

"Why the great and feared Hero of ShinRa goes to a little rural cemetery once a week."

It truly must of seemed odd to those who did not know the reason behind it, did not know whose grave he went to visit. For all intensive purposes, within the company, Sephiroth was an orphan. He had no parents, though Gast had adopted him, raised him. That still wasn't entirely considered a parent. Did the Turks, who knew everything, not know this?

"I wonder what the people of the world would think if they found out you have a heart…" With that, Tseng swiveled on his heel, exactly one-hundred and eighty degrees, before walking back down the cobble path. There were other Turks waiting in the helicopter for him, firing back up the propellers as he approached, ready to go on to whatever mission it was they were heading. There was a helicopter, further away than that one, waiting for Sephiroth. Though he was currently off duty, there were other tasks which needed to be taken care of before he could truly relax for the day.

The people of the world probably would never find out that he had a heart. There was no reason to let them know. Though he was in the spotlight, the press, for most of his life, that was only the public part of it, the part where he was saving others and helping people in general. The private parts of his life had remained as such, and Sephiroth planned on keeping it that way.

Turning, he gave one last, long look at the grave, at the fresh flowers he had placed up against the headstone. A sigh filtering through his barely parted lips, Sephiroth turned, striding for his own helicopter. He had too much to do today to linger any longer.

0 0 0 0 0

The exam was finished. Either he did extraordinarily well, or he failed it miserably. There was no middle ground on the written exam. On the physical exam, Genesis knew he passed with flying colors. He was the best in his grouping, so unless they all failed (Angeal was in another group), he should be fine. Because of what training he had received, in the form of he and Angeal sparring back in Banora, and in chasing off the children from his parent's Banora White tree, he was a quick learner, and already knew most of the movements. He was nowhere near where he had to be in musculature for SOLDIER First Class, but would probably bulk up with ease once in the program.

At least that was what he was hoping.

They were all crammed into one waiting room. It wasn't really a waiting room, in all reality. It was on SOLDIER floor, a wide open space with an inset seating area and big glass windows overlooking the city of Midgar, or at least the upper plate. As he had finished the written exams first, he had a seat at the table, lounging comfortably with his elbows on the metal surface, legs crossed in his usual, relaxed but superior manner. Angeal had come out next, and was sitting next to him, legs spread wide, arms on said legs, torso partially bent over. Could they have been in any more opposite of positions? Probably not.

A nervous chatter had filled the room, slowly but surely, as more and more people finished their exams. They were discussing answers, though they were not supposed to be. Considering how many surveillance cameras Genesis had seen in that room alone, he figured they were all on tape breaking the rules, and would be dismissed for that, regardless of their scores.

Because of that, Genesis had kept his mouth shut. Angeal was too. It was a comfortable silence between them, an understanding silence. Angeal's posture spoke that he was nervous, while Genesis' said there was no need to be. When the scores were posted on the glass windows next to them, a smile curved up on Genesis' lips. His name was printed in bold type, on the far left, with the highest scores in both. Angeal trailed him by one point on the physical exam, but by twenty in the written, to no surprise. Genesis had always been a bookworm.

It was the name of their supervising SOLDIER which caught Genesis off guard. Sephiroth. Sephiroth Gast. That was going to be their supervisor? Angeal was excited about it, actually bouncing a few times before settling down. Well, it would certainly be a source for inspiration, considering Sephiroth was a few months their younger and already at the very top of SOLDIER's fighting elite, the top First Class.

That would also be a great deal more in the pressure department. They would have to live up to _his_ expectations. In fact, where were a hero's expectations set? From what Genesis had read of _Loveless_ (which was all of it, over and over again), this was not going to be pleasant in the least.

At least Angeal was excited, though.

0 0 0 0 0

The sophisticated bar was well populated, patrons of their young twenties to later years peppering the classy leather chairs and polished bar stools. Someone was pounding on the piano, a woman with a high voice singing erratically to the clamor. A lot of people considered this music. It was too hectic, urgent, for Gast to appreciate. Through the low drone of chatter around them, and the louder beat (if something so irregular could be considered a beat) of the music, no one would be able to hear their conversation. It was probably for the best.

And, since no one had made any outward signs of recognizing either of them, Gast doubted any eavesdropping would be going on. Swirling his glass, he watched the rotation of deep amber liquid within it, slowly warming from the heat of his hand. That was just perfect, as that slight warming made it all the more smooth and rich.

"Why did you assign Sephiroth to the group both Rhapsodos and Hewley are in?" Gast cleared his throat, taking a sip of his drink and swallowing it harshly.

With a white gloved hand, Lazard adjusted his glasses, though they had seemed to be on perfectly straight before, the position of them not really changing in that motion. The man's lips were pursed, and he was staring into his own glass, which held within it some sort of white wine. Gast had not been paying attention to the name of what Lazard ordered, nor did it matter to him now, though it would no doubt give some sort of insight into his personality.

After a few long moments of nothing but noise around them, Lazard finally spoke up, his low voice nearly swallowed whole. "He originally took on the responsibility of dealing with new cadets. It has since become part of his regular ordered duties. Requesting to be removed from the position is insubordination, and as the Director of SOLDIER, I cannot allow that."

Gast grunted, taking a much larger mouthful of his amber alcohol. It slid down his throat, warming from the back of his tongue and into his chest. "Are you _planning_ on tearing the Science Department apart? Because that is exactly what you are setting up to do."

"Denying Rhapsodos and Hewley into SOLDIER, or denying them the same treatment as the other excellent candidates before them, would be a sure way to tear the Department apart." Lazard took another sip of his wine, holding it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing.

A phone started buzzing. Gast checked his quickly, mounted on his belt, to find it still and silent. Lazard reached into his blue pinstripe blazer, pulling out a sleek white phone, most definitely not ShinRa issue. He looked at the name on the screen for a moment, setting down his glass as he flicked the phone open, standing and walking off slowly, no doubt trying to find a quiet corner.

It was true. If Lazard denied them entrance to SOLDIER, there would be a much larger rift formed instantly in the science department, coloring everyone to different sides. The same would be true if Lazard did not put those two, the top two scorers, in the top group, which was always under the handling of Sephiroth ever since the silver haired teen took up that supervision/training position. No compromise could be made here. Lazard was more intelligent than Gast had ever given him credit for.

In a few more minutes, Lazard finally came back, closing his phone as he sat. There was what looked to be happiness in his eyes. Whoever the Director of SOLDIER had just gotten off the phone with, it was a special someone. No one in the Science Department really had a special someone, though Gast was sure he got that same look whenever he went to Modeoheim, and saw his family away from ShinRa there.

Considering what Hojo had said in that file, Gast knew he couldn't go back up there without risk of people following him. Hojo had enough of a loyal backing to arrange for that. Gast didn't want Ifalna, didn't want Aeris, to be found. They would just be used as experiments in Hojo's hands. That was too much to bear.

"A friend is meeting me here in a couple of minutes. I would prefer if you were gone by then." Lazard sat back against a reddish brown leather cushion comfortably, confidence mingling with that wistfulness in his eyes. Gast could see the bouncers eyeing him. It seemed as though Lazard was either a regular here, or owned the place. Considering what Gast had heard of where Lazard came from, he doubted the latter. It was always possible, though, now that Lazard was in such a position of power. And vying for the recently opened position of Vice President.

Finishing his drink, leaving his glass at the table with money tucked under the glass bottom, Gast stood, walking slowly for the entrance. He had to weave through groups of people. More had gathered since when they had started talking, and the show up at the piano had quieted, causing Gast to turn. There was a new act coming on, a pretty painted sign put up next to the pseudo-stage as everything was being prepared. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the head of the Turks, that Wutaian, sitting down across from Lazard.

Knowing he should already be gone, Gast picked up his pace, hurrying out the front door and on to Loveless Avenue.


	6. Chapter V: Image to Uphold

**Disclaimer:** I do not own CC, FF7, or any of that jazz. By this point, I am starting to think they own me. All hail Square Enix?

**Warning:** yaoi, language, alcohol, cigarettes/smoking, dark themes, unethical stuff, the usual. This M rating will come into play very soon.

**Author's Note: **If you hadn't noticed it, I made another change to canon: at this point, in canon, Veld is head of the Turks. In this, and all my other fics, Tseng is already head. So, just for the record, Veld has already defected in my timeline, a bit earlier than expected even. Deal with it. And I know. A short chapter. Sorry for the wait, guys. More should definitely coming soon. The pace should also be picking up.

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter V: Image to Uphold**

It was the first day of true training, the initial intake exercises. The training regimen was supposed to be a difficult one, which pushed cadets to their very limits and eliminated the weak that were not already taken out by the test. Considering his scores, Genesis knew he would be safe. Angeal, too. Those who had the highest scores were all in this group, to be tutored by the hero Sephiroth.

Angeal was bouncing up and down, literally. Rolling his eyes, Genesis cast a scathing glare in that direction, Angeal not even noticing. Angeal had gotten his new hair cut, black hair much shorter now, in cadet standards. Genesis had been required to get his hair trimmed some, though it was not too much shorter now. It would grow back to its usual length and comfort soon enough.

Rules, regulations; they were all stifling him already. Genesis knew he was getting into this, though the full details had not managed to seep in until during the haircut, when it hit him full force. Genesis managed to bite back a displeased groan, running a black gloved hand back through his crimson locks. His light blue cadet uniform was atrocious, his hair was atrocious, these boots, which reached just above the ankles, were atrocious.

The only bit of freedom he had retained was symbolized, literally and figuratively, but the long, dangling earring hanging from the lobe of his right ear. Genesis cherished that piece of jewelry, never took it off except to polish it, which he did often, and had become rather efficient at, so it was barely time at all. The person trimming his hair had commented that the earring might be trouble in a battle, leading to Genesis making a retort about Sephiroth's long, flowing, effeminate hair.

That had shut the girl up quickly and effectively, which was exactly what Genesis had been looking for. He was already learning, very well, how things worked here in the ShinRa building.

Many of the other cadets were shifting about, some from nerves, others in excitement. It was difficult to discern the difference. Genesis leaned back comfortably against the training room wall, arms crossed before his chest. During the cadet training, they were going to bulk up some. High protein meals were served, with lots of carbohydrates for energy. They had regular sessions with weights and other such exercises to get the musculature they would need to perform as SOLDIERs. It was just a matter of time now.

The training room doors slid open with a quiet whirr, Genesis turning his head at the faint sound. Hollander's mako treatments were paying off, as the others (minus Angeal) did not even notice, so lost in their own worlds, not so attuned to the one around them. That would lead to quick annihilation from the program.

A sleek, gliding form strode into the room, silver hair streaming like a mane of moonlight. He was in his usual leather trench, only with one buckle done, that gorgeously sculpted chest partially on display. Genesis found himself staring in hopes that the trench would come open and show a nipple. The redhead had to catch himself, pursing his lips as he pushed off from his wall lounging.

In all reality, he could very easily just lean there staring at the General all day and not get bored. That was not part of the SOLDIER training regimen (though it should have been), so it was not a possibility… right now, at least. Genesis made sure to keep his eyes on the General, following his graceful steps, appreciating the way he could see the muscles rippling though tight, black leather.

Genesis wanted to personally thank whoever designed Sephiroth's attire. It was glorious, if distracting.

Their first training session as SOLDIER cadets kicked off without a hitch. It was trying. It was painful. The routine Sephiroth taught them even strained Genesis, but the pay-off at the end of the road kept him from dropping in a puddle of sweat. And through it all, Sephiroth's breathing did not even increase, not a drop of sweat gracing his smooth, porcelain skin.

The thought of perhaps being able to make Sephiroth sweat some day kept Genesis smirking rather than grimacing.

0 0 0 0 0

There was another headstone in that graveyard, important to an entirely different group of people. Tseng's gliding steps took him down the cobbled path, beneath the wide shade provided by a tree, to the right and past a fountain. There, in the back corner of the graveyard, was a simple but nicely polished headstone. Tseng walked right up onto the thick green grass before it, kneeling down.

The most notable part about this grave? Tseng knew there was no body down below it, under six feet of dirt. The casket buried there was empty. The funeral had been conducted with the casket closed, supposedly because the body was so mangled that it would be detrimental to their psychological states to see it. Tseng was the only one who knew differently, but he came anyway, to pay homage to a lost comrade.

His hawk-like, brown eyes slid shut, lips moving without sound, forming words in Wutaian. He had been coming back from this very grave, from giving his prayers, when he had found Sephiroth at the grave of Lucrecia Crescent. Only the people from Midgar who were loved and cherished had been buried out there, where plant life could actually grow, where things like birds could survive. Tseng could hear them twittering away, singing some happy, flighty song.

Though Tseng did not know where, or how, he knew that Veld was alive. Midgar? Modeoheim? Nibelheim? Wutai? There were any number of places where the former head of the Turks could have been, and Tseng wished him well. The new head of the Turks did not come here often, but when he did, he made it meaningful.

Bending at his hips, back straight, Tseng lowered his head, thin lips touching the polished headstone, grazing the name engraved there before he sat up and stood in another, just as fluid motion. Turning on his heel, he started back down the path he had come. There were other fallen comrades from the Turks buried in that small, quaint cemetery, and his fellows, who had manned the helicopter, were visiting as well.

This was on the way to a lead about AVALANCHE. From what small scraps of information Tseng had found, that group was no doubt where Veld was, who he had taken shelter with. Tseng hoped that somehow they did not find Veld. Ever.

Let him have his freedom. Vanishing, supposedly dying, was the only way a Turk would ever get that sort of peace of mind.

Pausing beneath the tree, Tseng turned his eyes to the left, seeing two forms at the grave of Lucrecia today. Sephiroth and… Gast. That was most definitely the form of Professor Gast there beside the silver haired SOLDIER.

Going right rather than left, Tseng took the long way around to the exit of the cemetery. He did not want to disrupt them.

0 0 0 0 0

"You don't think it's overkill?" With a huff, Leo put down the weights, leaning over his own legs, resting his arms against them. He was covered in sweat, in dire need of a shower, but that could wait for a few. He had seen the cadet training regimen led by Sephiroth earlier that day, and quickly realized that he, as a SOLDIER Second Class, did nothing half as hard. Cadet training had not even been a quarter as difficult when Leo had gone through the process.

It made him worry.

"The lives of my men will be at risk if inexperienced, unprepared hands are put on the field." The answer was cool and low, completely unaffected by the fast paced, grueling practice exercise he was putting himself through. Leo watched in wonder and envy as Sephiroth completed another round, barely even breathing harder, just a slight gloss to his alabaster skin hinting at his barely active sweat glands.

"And you've never had an inexperienced, unprepared hand on the field since you started helping with the SOLDIER training program. At this rate, only a third of the best cadets are going to make it through, because you're going of have worked the rest to death." Leo tore his gaze away from the awe-inspiring SOLDIER First Class, staring instead at the heavy barbells he had been handling only moments earlier. No matter how hard he tried, he could not convince himself to pick them up again for another round. His arms ached enough as it was.

By the time Leo looked up again, Sephiroth was gone, the room's glass doors hissing quietly shut. Damn. That wasn't his intention. Leo had just wanted to extend an offer of friendship.


	7. Chapter VI: Excess

**Disclaimers:** I don't own any characters from CCFF7 or FF7 or BCFF7. The only ones I own are Edwin Murphins and Leo Elstair. Everything else is the product of Square Enix.

**Warnings:** yaoi, implied yaoi, language, smoking/drinking, mature ideas, unethical scientific practices, blackmail, etc, etc. Everything that makes something definitely M.

**Author's Note:** Don't hate me for that last, very short chapter. I should be brining in more points of view here, and make some longer chapters. The plot should be picking up in pace now. The title was inspired by Chaos.

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter VI: Excess**

"Where are you going?"

The voice made him pause, his turning slowly. Through the glasses perched on his nose he could make out the form of Gast, standing there so strong and sure of himself. The doctor had no idea. Hojo felt a smile stretch on his thin lips, crease the skin on his cheeks into wrinkles. There were a few more grey hairs in the mane of black, though it couldn't be seen, as the gusts created by helicopter propellers made the strands waver too much.

The helicopter was waiting for him, two Turks up front, each focused solemnly forward. They only knew the destination, not what was actually going on. That was probably for the best. Over the torrent of air from already spinning propellers, gusts buffeting the entire launch pad, Hojo had to shout and hold his black hair to keep the ponytail, the bindings holding it together, from being torn into chaos.

"President ShinRa has authorized further excavation of the Northern Crater." Hojo clutched his briefcase to him, all of the documents concerning such excavation only being half of the files within. Hojo had more than one reason to go to Modeoheim. He was going to do some research of his own concerning the Ancients. "I should be absent for a month at most. I have already arranged for my assistant to deal with the treatment of your son."

There was thinly veiled fear on Gast's face. Hojo could almost smell the terror wafting off of him. But that would make him a monster, wouldn't it? The sneer remained upon his thin lips, no doubt increasing the other scientist's unease. It was good to keep Gast on his toes. The victory would not be an easy one, but Hojo would feel all the more accomplished when he finally did achieve his ends.

No matter his position in the department, Gast couldn't say a thing. This was approved by President ShinRa himself. It was the first win in a chain of many battles. Giving a mocking nod to Gast, Hojo turned, hurrying for the waiting helicopter. His ride to the rest of the way to the Northern Crater, Captain Highwind, would not wait very long. The man was known for his impatience, so Hojo had to be quick.

Pulling himself into the passenger bay of the helicopter, Hojo barely got a chance to sit when the Turks took off, the doctor quickly grabbing for the belts to latch himself in.

0 0 0 0 0

Lithe fingers danced over the keyboard, entering in the information in the file to the left of the bright screen. His mako green eyes did not move for a moment away from the uneven black type, the details his brain filtered quickly, transferring from that hard copy into a digital one. Though most SOLDIERs considered this tedious work, it was something Sephiroth considered a necessity. Other than his rare moments off from physically inclined duties, this was his only time to relax.

Seated in a soft leather chair with a stiff but padded back, legs stretched out under his sleek glass desk, Sephiroth continued to strum the keys, snake-like eyes scanning the lines quickly. His typing speed had increased with more deskwork. Despite the calluses on them, his fingers were not meat stubs. They were refined instruments which needed to be utilized in more than one way. The calluses on his palm were matched by the calluses on the tips of his fingers.

For every mission there was desk work. There were files to add, to update. Even as he rose in the ranks, he refused to let anyone to do it for him. Why should he shirk part of his duty, just because everything came quicker to him? Sephiroth knew he could do double the work any other SOLDIER could in the same amount of time, if not more, and he practiced just that every single, on duty day.

Finishing one more page, he sat back, stretching. Muscles flexed, slowly but surely letting out the tension of being seated in that same position for so long, like a slow gas leak in a pipe. That was enough for today, or rather, tonight. Leaning forward, he flipped the latest finished file shut, moving it to the done pile. The file under it read in bold letters MODEOHEIM.

Why would anyone from SOLDIER be up in Modeoheim? Sephiroth pulled the file across his glass desk, staring at the outside of it for a moment. The folder was made of a slightly thicker, slightly darker material and looked to be sealed, like a minute layer of wax was put over it, for harsh weather use. He ran an ungloved hand over the surface, feeling the raised bumps of the title, fingers coiling over the edge and flipping it open.

The mako reactor up there was having severe monster problems. Pipelines and machinery were constantly getting damaged. The extreme weather was making it difficult to keep personnel up there, as supplies were difficult to ship, and the harsh landscape did not allow them to harvest any on the spot. They were going to abandon the mako reactor, despite how much of the substance it harvested.

That was where Dr. Hojo was at this point, or at least that was what Gast said. Sephiroth had a feeling they did not tell him about Modeoheim for a reason. It was a gut feeling, settling in his stomach, not letting go.

What was in Modeoheim that they had to keep a secret?

With a thin lipped sigh, Sephiroth closed the file, replacing it on the yet to be typed pile. That could be saved for tomorrow.

He had an early morning training session with his cadets. He needed to be well rested for it.

0 0 0 0 0

The sounds of a helicopter's propellers tore open the peaceful quiet of the little village. Slowly, she stood, reddish brown eyebrows pulling in, little creases forming in her smooth, pale skin. As far as she knew, there was no one scheduled to be arriving any time soon. Putting a hand out, she pushed the maroon scarf of her makeshift indoor tent aside, peering out into the brightly lit room.

A knock sounded on the door, rough, urgent, nothing like the knock her father usually gave. Quickly, she pushed the tent flap back down, shrinking into the provided darkness. Curling into a ball, she waited in the back corner, hugging her knees to her chest. Her lips moved in a silent prayer, body rocking back and forth.

The handle rattled, door shaking. Aeris held her breath, staring at the far corner of the tent. She waited. For a moment there was silence, then the door rattled again, sharply. There was some muffled talking.

Everything went quiet again, and she let out her breath.

Someone had found where they were. Or maybe it was just a tourist wandering around. Aeris didn't know. She just hoped her mother didn't come home while those people were still outside. She had a bad feeling about them.

0 0 0 0 0

Tseng fit a key into the door, giving a quick flick of his wrist to unlock it and open the wooden barrier at the same time. Most of the doors in the tower were metal, but this one was different. He was not the designer of it, far from it. This used to be Veld's office. It was his now. Sometimes he swore he could still smell his former superior in there.

It had to be a mind-trick.

Narrowing his brown eyes, he stepped inside, the sudden change in lighting having no effect on him. The darkness within was a comfortable one. Closing the door quickly behind him, he made it to the desk in a few fluid, precise strides, sitting down carefully so the wheeled chair did not roll with that change in weight.

There were two Turks, lower ranking, who had not reported to him that morning. There were no missions assigned by him or the President which were not already taken care of, and such new blood was not supposed to be out there, in the field, alone. Tseng clicked on the computer, quickly entering his password, two Wutainese words which had been scrambled to make the letter combination random, though he still knew it well.

Another password block popped up at his searching. He entered his own password. Clearance denied. He entered President ShinRa's password. Clearance denied. That was new. Leaning back, he strummed his lithe fingers on the desk. Suddenly jerking forward, he typed a new word, JENOVA, in all caps, into the box, tapping the enter key.

The files opened. It was too easy. It felt far too easy. His gaze scanned quickly over what little information was in the file. Those two Turks were with Hojo in Modeoheim. He would have to pay the doctor a visit when they returned.

No one, absolutely no one, took his Turks without his permission first.

0 0 0 0 0

The training room was empty. Genesis let his mako-bright eyes scan over the forms of weights and machines and practice dummies, hand reaching over blindly to strum up the light switch. The bright fluorescents streamed on full, illuminating every corner and crevice. There was definitely no one within. His chemically sharpened senses would have picked up on them by now.

With a half-smile, seeming more a smirk, he wove through the abandoned workout machines with a feline grace, hips swaying with delight as he ran a black gloved finger over a barbell. It was still slightly warm, a lingering sensation of just having been used. Interesting. Genesis kept on his way, pausing in the middle of a wide open floor, with mirrors in front of it.

So _this_ was where the great Sephiroth practiced. Genesis could almost feel that presence like it was palpable. Dropping into his ready stance, Genesis slowly started into the routine Sephiroth had showed them the other day, which they were still working to perfect. His foot came up in a snapped kick, body spinning, a block with his left elbow coming up to shield an invisible blow as his right hand jutted forth, hitting that unseen foe.

Ducking, he slid on the soft ground, spinning and kicking at knee level before going into a series of fast punches. Breath hitching, he ducked again, rolling over his right shoulder, coming up gracefully on his feet.

A sharp, loud clap stopped him in his tracks.

Genesis swiveled quickly, sweat beading his forehead, rolling down a temple in a cool trail. He wiped his brow with the back of his leather covered hand, deciding immediately that he did not like the feeling. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he brought up a stiff salute, crystalline blue gaze locking with mako green.

"Keep going."

That voice was smooth, low, calm. Did Sephiroth ever talk in any other way? Genesis was almost positive he didn't. He'd never even seen the General break a sweat. Perhaps that would change sometime soon.

Lowering his hand from its salute, moving back into stance, he continued the routine.

Bringing up his elbow in another block, starting the routine again, Genesis felt the resistance of a downward chop contacting him, eyes flashing to the contact point for a second as his right hand flew under the guard. That hand was knocked to the side, leading to a spin in which he brought his hand around again. A hit came up high, Genesis dropping into the slide, spinning into a kick only to find Sephiroth was already countering that attack.

Every attack he put forth was blocked, every block of his was met with an attack, giving that invisible enemy an actual form.

They picked up the pace.

Sweat streamed down his face, one tiny flow becoming a few rivers. Crimson hair stuck to his head, losing its bouncy, flipped form as it became damp. His breathing was more ragged, mouth slightly ajar to let in greater draughts of air than his nose alone could muster.

The routine stopped, finished, Genesis standing back, gasping for breath. Much to his pleasure he noted that Sephiroth's chiseled chest was rising and falling slightly quicker than usual, and there was a barely noticeable sheen to his skin, suggesting sweat.

Had he really just done that?

"Again." Sephiroth motioned with his gloved hand, beckoning Genesis to start again. He groaned, to which Sephiroth shook his head, a slight smile quirking those lips. "There will be no pauses on the battlefield. Danger is everywhere. You need more stamina than that to survive."

Grudgingly, Genesis took his stance again, having to take in a few more gasps before he could finally lunge in for the first snapped kick. His muscles were screaming at him to stop. They were starting to show a lot more definition, not that he had been skinny upon joining SOLDIER. Yeah, Angeal was bigger, but Genesis was still strong. Apparently not strong enough. Genesis was sure he would be sore for a week to come.

They migrated across the floor, routine shifting subtly here and there until it was not the practiced form all together. Sephiroth was adding extra moves, extra attacks, Genesis' sharpened senses perceiving and blocking, though barely in time.

A kick came from the side, Genesis jumping back, his metal pauldrons clinking against glass. His eyes widened, realization of his position flashing through his mind as Sephiroth's black clad form came in a blur towards him, pinning him, an elbow nuzzling uncomfortably in the hollow of his neck.

Genesis sputtered, trying hard to breathe. His hands tapped against the glass feebly, airway constricting. "I… surrender…"

The pressure was let off, but the look on Sephiroth's face was far from pleased. "Never surrender." The silver hair framing his fast was slightly darker, a grey tone, speaking of the dampness of it. Genesis could feel the General's hot breath on his eyes, having to close them to crescents to stop them from drying out, the irritation already rising. "You need to be more aware of—"

Tilting his head up, Genesis pressed his lips to those of the talking General. They were smooth, surprisingly smooth, but at the same time hard in a way.

The General pulled away sharply, silver brows furrowing in. It wasn't hatred in those glowing green eyes of his. No. It was something like… confusion? Genesis took a step forward as Sephiroth took a step back, the General spinning on his heel, striding quickly for the door.

"Wait!"

The glass doors hissed open, Sephiroth hovering there for a moment. Genesis paused on the training floor, no more words forming on his lips. Normally he was so good with words, but they did not even come to mind right now. He was a complete blank.

In the silence, Sephiroth left, glass doors sealing shut behind him.


	8. Chapter VII: Wondering and Needing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own FF7, associated characters, places or events. Those are all Square Enix. I just write a TON of fics on this stuff. They gave me soooo much to work with, so why not?

**Warnings:** mild AU ala Gast, yaoi, dark themes, unethical practices, cigarette smoking, violence, etc, etc. If any of that offends you, run away now before you waste any time reading this.

**Author's Note:** Homework is evil.

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter VII: Wondering and Needing**

The stairs creaked under his weight, metal giving a little with every step. If the Northern Crater ever thawed, the whole facility would probably fall to pieces; frozen lines and cracks were already showing. The ice was like glue for now. The door was another issue. Tugging at his thick gloves to be sure they were secure, he tested the handle, having to use both hands to get it to turn. The door was a different matter entirely. He had to throw his hunched form against it to get it to budge.

Ice crumbled at the seams, falling in a little white shower as he stumbled inside. The two Turks were still waiting down at the reactor entrance, knowing when their presence was wanted. That time was not now. Forcing the door shut behind him, he reached for the switch, forcing the lever up with a grunt. A thin sheen of sweat had collected across his brow, but that was the price to pay. There was no one other than himself that he could trust.

The lights hummed on in sections, slowly illuminating the massive facility. Hojo felt a smirk coil onto his lips, a snake of white air slithering forward. It was freezing in the facility, but it was still operational. Perfect. Gast had obviously been there recently.

Walking quickly, strides jerky, uneven but determined, Hojo wound down into the facility, following the natural flow of frigid platforms further into the ground. This mako excavation facility was one of the largest, highest yielding, and yet the president was considering closing it, because of the high cost, the casualties.

There had to be sacrifices for gains. A plan without risk would garner close to nothing. Despite the high risks of dealing with Jenova cells, of implanting Lucrecia with the cells while she was pregnant, allowing Gast to raise the child… the gain seemed to be worth it thus far. Hojo smirked as he kept going, checking valves and machinery as he went.

Everything was in good working order, self sufficient, as well. There was absolutely no reason to close the site, which Hojo would definitely bring up to the president personally, so Gast could not contradict everything he said. The mako yield would continue at an all time high, and since the facility was currently run on its own, no pesky sacrifices would have to be made.

Taking a last tally, writing down notes, Hojo collected a sample of the mako, heading back up. It was a long way to go for a sample, but would hopefully be worth it. The chemical signature on the mako would tell him a lot.

0 0 0 0 0

It was something he could not remove from his mind, no matter what he tried. By now he was frustrated, but tired enough that his mind had finally drifted, for at least a few blissful moments. Sweat rolled down his face, his back, fingertips. It was hard to grip the hilt of the masamune because of it, but his hand was firm.

How long had he been out there?

Shielding his eyes, he looked up at the sky, silver brows furrowing in as he realized the sun was no longer glaring straight down. In fact, long shadows slanted across the countryside, light slowly draining out of the continent. It had been hours. How many, Sephiroth was not entirely sure, but it had been enough.

The masamune vanishing in a flash, he stretched, hearing a soft pop. That felt good. A soft breeze rippled across the countryside, combing through his damp hair, across sweat beaded skin. It was relaxing, and he let his arms fall back to his sides.

He needed to get back to Midgar.

His training had always been rigorous, but he had never spent this long, at one time, in the field, running routines. There was bound to be talking. People would be worried. That was the last thing Sephiroth wanted, so he turned, trudging back for the city. Over the grassy hill, the helicopter was waiting. The Turks inside looked as though they might be bored to death at any moment, and a ghosting of a smile floated across his lips.

When he boarded the helicopter, both Turks sat up with a bolt, magazines and headsets flying everywhere. Without a word, Sephiroth sat, peacefully, hands folded on his lap. He let his eyes drift shut, not in sleep but relaxation, a deep breath sucked in through his lips. It was a satisfied feeling inside of him, like the demons inside had been exercised and he could finally rest.

Demons. Would that be an accurate description? The helicopter propellers began with a whirr, grinding into motion. Demons. Sephiroth's lips pursed into a thin line as he thought, considering.

The touch, it had been something unexpected, unwanted. Physicality was not something he ever wanted for, needed, for he had more important matters, duties, hanging on his shoulders. Hundreds of lives hung in the balance of his decisions, so he did not have the time for such trivial matters as carnal pleasures, nor did he want that sort of complication added in to the equation of his life.

The touch had been excess. Too much.

But was it bad?

Sephiroth sucked in another deep breath.

He did not need to be thinking about this right now.

0 0 0 0 0

Genesis buried his head in his pillow, groaning loudly. It was all he could do to stop himself from banging his head against the wall.

What had he been thinking?

Genesis coiled his arms around the pillow, clenching it tight. The pillow was a flat, hard thing, lumpy too, but it was all the better for squeezing the live out of, since it gave so much resistance. It was getting more difficult to breathe as well, with his noise squashed between a rock and a hard place (which was his head and which the pillow?).

After a moment longer, he flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

A better question would be: Had he been thinking?

The most obvious answer at the night was a big, resounding NO.

Genesis groaned again, running his hands through shortish crimson hair. SOLDIER, so far, was proving hell. First, he had to sit through long, boring lectures, and a test. What in the world deserved such a passionate hate as did lectures and tests? And then, there were the uniforms, hardly fashionable, and the haircuts, even worse. And now, he couldn't get the feeling, the taste, of Sephiroth's lips off his mind and it was so _absolutely wrong_ that he really did not want to stop thinking about it.

The door opened, Angeal stepping through. They shared a room. It was an obvious assignment. The bigger male sat on the bed across from Genesis, staring. Genesis rolled his eyes and rolled over, back facing to Angeal. There wasn't a bigger "there is something wrong" signal in the books.

"What's been on your mind all day? It's our first day off! I thought you, of all people, would be enjoying it!"

"Thanks." Genesis mumbled towards the wall, glowering at it. It was like, a backhanded compliment, just without the compliment part.

"Really, Genesis. What is it?"

"Nothing." Genesis pulled his pillow out from under his head. It wasn't doing any good there anyway. Instead, he hugged it, curling around the hard, coarse material. He could just lay there for the rest of the day. He wouldn't feel any better, but that way, he also wouldn't feel any worse.

"Let's go out."

Genesis had to pause for a moment. His red brows came in, creases forming between them. He dropped the pillow, turning his head. Angeal? Out? What?

"I hear they are putting on a stage production of Loveless down in Midgar."

"It's a bit late to be asking for permission to come back after curfew."

"I noticed you were out of it earlier and already asked the commander." Angeal was grinning, like this was some big feat he had pulled off.

When he held up two tickets, Genesis was sure he had pulled off some holy miracle.

0 0 0 0 0

He hadn't noticed that Tseng's hips swayed as he walked until this day. Before, Sephiroth had gone through whole meetings without looking at Tseng once. He had ate lunch with him, and only glanced over when Tseng was talking, or when the Wutaian Turk got up to leave, and even then, his gaze never lingered. Now, though, the Turk leaving his office after asking about where Hojo was, Sephiroth found his gaze trained upon the Turk's every movement, on how taut muscles moved with practiced precision beneath suit pants, flex and relax and flex and relax, in smooth synchronization.

Nor had he, before, noticed how appealingly formed the Turk's posterior was.

He sighed, resting an elbow on his polished, pristine desk, head cradled in his hand.

What had gotten in to him?

Genesis. That was what. Sephiroth was certain these events had to be linked. From what Sephiroth understood of normal relationships, whether they be emotional, physical, or both, was that they had a system of reciprocity built in, and they also took place between a male and a female. The marriages, flings and on-again off-again relationships Sephiroth had witnessed (though never partook in) around the ShinRa building, in the company, always worked in that manner.

And if it was the case that all healthy relationships worked by the same laws, physics, that meant there was certainly something off kilter about Genesis' advances, just as there was with his current fascination with the male body. Certainly, living in such a body, he knew it very well. Sephiroth was perfectly aware of every muscle and bone in his body, as well as how to use each with the most precision, least margin of error, as possible. There was no questioning that. That did not, however, explain why he was so intrigued by other bodies.

It did not help that every time he closed his eyes, he was relocated back into the training room, by the glass on the sparring floor, with that pale, smooth face close to his, hot breath warming his skin, warm lips heating, making his own pliable.

Something was most definitely wrong with him.

Sephiroth pressed a button on his computer, its beginning the slow boot up process. Considering how much money ShinRa had, one might think they had better systems. That, however, was not a major expenditure for budget. President ShinRa was more keen on continuing to fund Scarlet and her never ending hunt for more destructive weapons.

To each their own.

He strummed long, strong fingers on his desk, waiting as patiently as he could manage at the moment. Normally, it might seem that he had all the patience in the world, but not now. He needed something to distract himself, to get himself functioning properly again, and if this computer did not hurry, he was going to have to leave to find some other means to the same end.

0 0 0 0 0

A loud, club-fisted knock sounded on his door. Gast glanced up, pursing his lips. He could see a well padded, short figure through the frosted glass of his office door. Clearing his throat, he gave a loud "Come in" before looking back down at the paperwork before him.

He did not need to look up to know that it was Hollander waddling through the door. What the ambitious, often too driven man wanted was beyond Gast. There was absolutely no reason for them to be talking to one another.

Perhaps he was just feeling over-protective of his son. With two more people enhanced with Jenova's cells coming into SOLDIER, there was bound to be competition for his boy. That should not have worried Gast as much as it did.

He'd always wanted Sephiroth to have as normal a life as possible, after all.

"Professor Hojo still has not returned from his sample collecting trip to Modeoheim."

"He said it might take up to a month. It's been less than a week." Gast kept reading. Keeping his face downcast in this way hid the worry lines which had sprouted onto his face at the mention of Hojo and the amount of time he had been gone. It had started to seriously worry him.

"There are some army personnel being sent to Modeoheim at his request."

That nearly made his heart stop.

Ifalna. Aeris.

They were in danger.

Gast bolted from his chair, running past Hollander.

He needed a private helicopter, the fastest he could find. He flipped open his phone, dialing the temporary head of the Turks, Tseng. There was no one who could get him to the Northern Crater faster.


	9. Chapter VIII: Abandon

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Crisis Core, the characters, the plot, etc. That is all Square Enix. I, however, wrote this, and came up with this zany possibility. Sorry about that.

**Warnings:** dark themes, graphic yaoi, unethical practices, character death, alcohol, cigarettes, language, morbid stuff, slight AU, disturbing images, depression, and the list goes on. If any of these things scare you, run away now. Save your eyes now. Seriously. Now.

**Author's Note:** I really don't have time for this any more. But yeah. Sorry. Can't help it really. Writing this chapter was like watching a really bad train wreck happen. I couldn't turn away.

**Writing Note:** Sorry if I flip between past and present tense here and there. I'm trying to control it. I've been writing screenplay all month, which is all present tense, and it has definitely fucked me up.

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter VIII: Abandon**

The whirr of helicopter propellers was the only noise, and that was probably for the best. A bulky, black headset rested over his ears, keeping them warm, microphone wrapping around his angular cheek, not currently in use. Normally he would have a co-pilot, but with the time constraints and the nature of this spur of the moment mission, Tseng had not had the time to make such preparations, nor did he have the patience to give a security briefing on the matter.

He preferred if whatever happened remained for his eyes only. He did not need the added stress of worrying over whether any of his Turks were double agents. After what had happened with Veld, of all people…

Tseng pursed his lips, sharp black brows pulled inwards. The concentration was plain on his face. It was good that his passenger was so quiet, kept out of the way, sitting patiently in the back like he was supposed to. Right now, he could not deal with someone in his face, getting in his way.

The silence was preferable.

The storm that had been forecasted was not hitting yet. Clouds hung heavy in the sky, pregnant with snow, but not yielding. Flying to Modeoheim during a storm was a death wish, and Tseng was not yet ready to die. He was sure Gast shared such sentiments.

They landed not far from the village center. A white dust kicked up, snow flying with the intensity of the helicopter propellers.

"I'll be back soon. Wait for me." Gast motioned upward with a finger, signaling to keep the helicopter running. Tseng nodded curtly, slowing the rate of the revolutions without turning the helicopter off all together.

The howling wind beat across the buildings, the helicopter, whistling loudly. Gast needed to hurry. That storm was bound to explode at any moment.

Tseng leaned back in his seat, eyes fluttering shut. He let out a long sigh, air billowing white before him. The temperature in the helicopter was decreasing rapidly, and there was nothing he could do about it. This was a small, tactical vehicle, meant to get somewhere fast, unload, and get going again. He glanced at the fuel gauge. If Gast took much longer, they would need to make a stop between the Crater and Midgar to refuel.

The silence exploded into rapid gunfire.

Tseng bolted upright, eyes widening, headset falling off. Gast didn't have a gun.

Fumbling, he got his flight harness undone, standing and turning to sprint out of the cockpit, out the side hatch. His gun was already in his hand.

It felt like he was running in slow motion.

There were two Turks, the two missing, standing outside the door.

"We can't let you enter."

They made the mistake of lifting their weapons.

Tseng fired, twice. It was so quick they could not have seen it coming. The two renegade Turks slid down the wall, leaving streaks of blood and brainmatter which froze almost instantly. Walking forward, he kicked, door flying open.

There was screaming, wailing; Tseng's eyes locked on the source, a woman and her daughter. They were crying and screaming. He followed their gaze, down. Gast!

Tseng ran, skidding to kneel. He pushed his finger's against the doctor's neck, feeling for a pulse.

It was already gone.

The personnel from the ShinRa army grabbed the two women, dragging them out as they kicked and screamed. Tseng could see Hojo from the corner of his eyes.

He started CPR. His hands quickly slicked with blood, compressing that chest sharply. He breathed air into Gast's lips, trying to ignore how those lips were already growing cold. A lump formed in his throat. He kept pumping, breathing, hoping, praying.

A hand was on his shoulder.

Tseng slapped it with a growl, continuing to pump. He hadn't realized that tears were streaming down his face until he saw the wet spots on Gast's coat that weren't blood. Tseng wiped at his cheeks, leaving stripes of red, and he kept going.

"He's dead."

Tseng kept pumping.

"Turk, he's dead. Not even a phoenix down would bring back that tattered carcass."

Tseng kept pumping.

He vaguely registered Hojo leaving. The cold gust of air against his cheek made him shiver, pause, stop. There was still no response.

He kept trying.

A loud crack stopped him. He had just broken the ribs. Tseng stared down at the motionless body, riddled with bullet wounds.

It wasn't his job to save people and yet… Tseng tilted his head back, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. It didn't work.

He had to take the body back. He had to deliver the news. He didn't want to, but he had to. That _was_ part of his job.

0 0 0 0 0

There was commotion in the Science Department. Sephiroth could not miss it. People were buzzing about, flitting this way and that, not even glancing at him. Normally he would at least get a courtesy nod. Everyone was preoccupied. It felt like someone had thrown a match down an ant hill.

Sliding his card through the scanner, he waited patiently for the elevator. It came soon enough, descending from the heights of the ShinRa tower.

There were people inside.

Stepping to the side, he let them pass. There was a medical team with a gurney. On it was a black bag, full with a body. His mako green eyes watched it pass with indifference.

"I'm sorry."

The voice was soft, thickly accented, familiar but not at the same time. Sephiroth glanced up, gaze fixing inside the elevator. It was Tseng. His hair was down, a chaotic black halo about a face which was abnormally pale. The black dot on his forehead was starkly visible in contrast.

There was blood on his suit, hands, some flecks of it still on his face. Sephiroth could smell it.

His head snapped to the side, watching the gurney as it was taken around a corner. He felt like he should know who was in the bag.

"I'm sorry, Sephiroth. I tried… I tried to save him, I really did. I—"

"Who?" The word came out surprisingly curt and cold. Sephiroth was still staring at the empty hallway, as though the answer would someone manifest itself there.

The elevator doors dinged shut, glass cylinder going elsewhere. Sephiroth could feel Tseng's presence near him. Every cell in his body was telling him to leave. To go now, before it was too late. He didn't move soon enough.

"Gast."

His eyes widened. There was a tremble in his lip. Gast. Sephiroth closed his eyes, feeling the hot sting of liquid in them, willing nothing to come out. All he could see was the blood on Tseng, up his arms, splattered over his suit.

He tried opening his mouth, speaking, asking how, why, but only a hoarse croak came out. He was shaking from head to foot.

There was nowhere he could go, either.

Spinning, he fled down the hall, not after the gurney, but away.

There was no where he could go. Nothing he could do.

All his training and hard work had been for nothing.

0 0 0 0 0

A rough knock sounded on the door, first few strikes weak, uncertain, the next more firm, like a decision had been made. Genesis opened his eyes, frowning as he looked at the clock. It was far too early for Angeal to be back. He was going to be sleeping in the lab; Hollander was running some tests. Groaning, Genesis rolled over, shutting his bright blue eyes again.

The knock came again, this time more insistent. Grinding his teeth, Genesis got up. He was still in his uniform, too lazy and tired to change out of it at this point. Stumbling, he reaches for the door, flinging it open.

The weight on him was sudden, unexpected. Genesis staggered, fighting for balance, for a grip on the table by his bed, anything. The door was already closed, no light on. He could barely see. This person was taller than him, heavier than him. Genesis reached up, palm sliding over the defined face, back into the hair.

Streaming silver hair.

Gasping, Genesis tried to move back. Arms are already around him, such an escape already defeated. Hot lips press against his neck. Genesis shuddered, surprised, but not unwilling. A moan tumbled from his mouth.

That was permission enough, it seemed.

Sephiroth crashed into him like a hurricane, a furious storm of emotion, need and want, all mixed together past recognition. His lips wandered, hot and demanding, hands stroking, needing, grasping. It was like he was looking for something to hold on to, lest he be washed away, lose himself.

Genesis melted into the touches, caressing, flipping his uniform off with unsteady hands. He'd never been this nervous before. Sex was just sex. But this… Teeth scrapped across his shoulder, collarbone, dragging down.

Strong arms flipped him onto the bed, that battle-tuned body following quickly. Genesis arched up into the teeth on his erect nipple, hands shaking to undo the buckle on Sephiroth's trench. The General flung it off in a smooth motion. There was a soft film of sweat beading his skin. It was clammy to the touch. Genesis let his hands explore, giving in to the attention, reveling in it.

Their pants were off before he even knew what was happening. There was no chance to ask about the sudden change of heart. A finger burrowed inside him shut up any questions, instead reverberating as a low purr from the back of his throat.

He didn't even remember a second finger, or a third, being pushed in, the slam of hips into his, throbbing erection buried hilt deep in his ass, singeing his nerves. Lips covered his, pressing them open, invading them with a tongue, before a loud moan could be torn out. The sound was muffled by the crashing of their bodies, slap of Sephiroth's lean muscles against his, which were still taking shape, the mouth grinding into his.

The rhythm was erratic, sporadic. All of that cool resolve Sephiroth was so known for was gone. Moisture dripped onto Genesis' face, and he opened his eyes. Sephiroth's were closed. His face was wet. It had to be sweat.

Genesis closed his eyes again, rolling his head back, only for it to be captured again. Sephiroth was unrelenting. Every hard thrust sent tendrils of pain and pleasure, scorching his body from the inside out.

It felt like an eternity and not long enough all at once.

The emptiness in him was sudden, and only when Sephiroth rolled off him, lying heavily beside him, panting, did Genesis notice the sticky hot cum caking his abdomen.

The urge to clean off was trumped by sleep, which came all too easily.

With those strong arms holding him like he was the only thing in the world, there was nothing else he wanted to do but sleep.

0 0 0 0 0

The door opened, banging on the hinges loudly. Genesis opened his eyes slowly. The sheet had been pulled over top of him at some point, covering his nude body. He could see his clothing stacked on the table by his bed, neatly folded. That made him start. Genesis bolted upright, clutching the sheets around his bare, soiled waist, staring at the door.

Angeal stood there, face grave, troubled.

With a start, Genesis glanced at the bed beside him. It was empty.

"Why weren't you answering!?"

"I was asleep! Why the hell else wouldn't I answer?" The reply was growled back easily. His usual morning attitude, anger, easily replaced the sudden fright he'd just had.

For a moment he thought it was just a dream, but the dried, still very sticky cum on his abdomen, hidden discretely by the sheet, was proof enough. He was sticky in other places as well, which made him cringe. He needed a shower.

"So you haven't heard."

"Heard what?!"

Genesis glared at his friend, who was up so easily in the early morning. The sun was just starting to shine through the window of their shared room, getting in his eyes. It only made this feel more like a dream than the previous whirlwind of a night had been.

"Professor Gast is dead."

Gast…. Gast… he'd heard that name before….

Gast!

His lips fell open, starting to tremble. His whole body tensed, ready for the hard blow which had already come. Sephiroth had known.

The way Sephiroth had collapsed into him, grasped at him, the tears on his face which Genesis had dumbly mistaken for sweat, it all made sense.

He'd been used.

Genesis flopped back onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

He'd been used.


	10. Chapter IX: Blood Sickness

**Disclaimer:** I do not own CC, any characters, locations, etc. Those are all Square Enix. I merely write this outlier of a story.

**Warnings:** AU via Gast, yaoi, violence, emotional trauma, language, cigarettes, drinking, disturbing images, etc. If you don't like these things, save yourself from being traumatized and run away now.

**Author's Note:** And this is where my crazy little idea starts branching further and further away from canon. You've been warned. And, as always, R&R is cherished. My muse needs nourishment of the review sort to survive, so…

**Random Note:** my chapter titles all have MEANING. Please read the title of the chapter. Seriously. If there was no purpose, I wouldn't include it.

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter IX: Blood Sickness**

The wind blew hard, rattling off the huge panes of glass, the antennae and various other fixtures of the roof. The helipad was quiet, except for howling of the wind. Even the din of the city far below had been muffled by the distance.

His legs dangled over the side. He could feel the wind pulling at them, buffeting the protective leather and metal. It was not at all daunting. He had faced much worse in his life. His hands remained gripped on the railing, a last, fleeting sense of security.

If not for the smog, he might have seen the sun rising. That thick layer of black still hung over Midgar, all of it, though there at the very top, it was slightly thinned.

Any other time, any other situation, he might have wondered what the stars looked like.

It all replayed in his head. It had been overwhelming then, and still was now, rewinding, fast-fowarding, never letting go. He could still smell Genesis on him. It was exotic, the scent, but sickening. His stomach churned.

"I found him." The voice was low, curt. The chirp of a phone followed. Tseng.

Sephiroth did not turn. He could hear the Turk's smooth gait as it crossed the helipad, how he stopped a few paces away, as though that distance was somehow safe. The Turk must have forgotten who he was dealing with. Or perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps he remembered exactly who he was dealing with, and knew, even in the reach of the Masamune, he would not become a target.

That was the problem. Sephiroth wasn't exactly sure what had gotten into him, only he loathed himself for it now. Every cell of him was squirming with disgust. It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed it; he would rather not think about that right now.

"What are you doing up here?" Tseng's voice was just loud enough to carry over the wind, but not loud enough to carry further than Sephiroth's sharp ears. Always efficient; Sephiroth would not be surprised if Tseng's name wasn't in the definition of that word. "You missed your appointment. The scientists are worried."

Sephiroth let his eyes focus on the city, the lights dotting the upper plate, the gaps in that plate where it was not yet finished, giving view of the dismal slums below. People lived down there. His gaze ran back up to the reactors, the green light and fumes spewing from them. They were the color of his eyes.

It didn't matter.

"We are… all taking this hard. Gast was loved by all of us."

"This isn't about Him."

"Oh?" Tseng sounded curious, though on a more professional level than anything. It was always professional with him.

"I would rather not discuss it."

"Yes, that's why you came up here, where you knew you would be found. You helped place the motion sensors." Tseng bridged the gap, leaning against the railing beside Sephiroth. Sephiroth remained on the other side of the railing, the metal bars like a security cage.

Sephiroth grunted. Yes, he helped place the motion sensors. He also knew how to avoid tripping them and that was exactly what he had done. That was why he had been up there for the last few hours without anyone coming to investigate.

"You don't want Director Lazard to launch an investigation into this, nor would you want Hojo to do so, either." Tseng was making solid points. Both were definitely possibilities. "At least lie to me."

"I…" Sephiroth took a deep breath. He hated lying. He wouldn't do it to his troops, and now, he wouldn't do it to Tseng. "I overstepped my boundaries."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, as well.

"Professionally? Physically? Emotionally?"

He leaned his head back against the cool metal bar. His silver hair was sticking to his face, remnants of his misdeeds.

"I took advantage of someone in my grief and—"

"It just proves you are still human, to err in the first place and to feel guilt for it."

Sephiroth nodded. He could always trust Tseng to be brimming with insight and knowledge.

"Are you coming back in, now?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to apologize?"

He didn't know yet.

0 0 0 0 0

The cemetery was a place he should have grown used to by now. Once a week, like clockwork, he made the trek outside of Midgar to this secluded, grassy sanctuary to place flowers on his mother's grave. It was always sunny there, and the birds could be heard chirping, things he did not experience in Midgar. It was peaceful in the cemetery, always hushed. Not many people came.

Today was different.

The sun shining so brightly, streaming from the heavens. It felt wrong. The songs of birds raised in harmony felt noisy, overbearing on his hypersensitive hearing. He could feel them swooping and ducking between the trees, chasing one another with abandon. There were people gathered, so many people, all with their heads ducked.

It was a solemn occasion, or as solemn as one could be in such a place.

The grave had been dug towards the back of the cemetery, where not many other headstones were. Though he was sure Gast would have wanted to be buried beside Lucrecia, he had not been able to find a voice to speak such wishes. The plot was chosen by someone else, probably Hojo, who was not in attendance.

Though people were surely surprised, as Gast had been somewhat of a mentor, even to Hojo, no one spoke such discomfort. Today was supposed to be about remembering the pleasant details about Gast's life, not bogging it down with political tensions and rivalries.

It was definitely a rivalry. There were no two ways to state it.

The suit felt confining, smothering, on his skin, but the sleek black cloth, bright white shirt and light green tie had been picked out by Gast for formal occasions. He had probably never meant it for his own funeral, but it was the only non-SOLDIER related suit he had. Full SOLDIER regalia did not feel appropriate, so he had forced himself into the perfect, pressed suit.

A cooling breeze combed through his silver hair, the band at the nape of his neck doing little to constrain the long, silken locks. He stood off to the side. There, his hair would hit no one. He wished he would not be noticed in the least, just fade into the cemetery backdrop, but he towered over the others in attendance easily, so he stood out like a sore thumb, or worse.

Sephiroth did not recognize everyone in attendance. There was Hollander, and other people from the Science Department. Director Lazard was there. Tseng and two of his Turks were in attendance, but probably only for protection of the President, who was also there, surprisingly in black rather than his usual red. Reeve was there as well, with some of his people, all nameless faces.

Two women, wreathed in black, stood directly across from Sephiroth. The younger, probably not much younger than him, was staring at him with big, emerald green eyes. Her cheeks were puffy from crying. Sephiroth had never seen the women before, though he felt like he should know them.

Despite their obvious grief, they seemed like the most grounded people there. Sephiroth would not be surprised if they could not move, for roots had grown out of their feet, chaining them, or rather linking them, to the world.

Though Sephiroth had been asked if he wanted to speak, he knew he would not be able to. No words would move past the lump in his throat. Ever since Tseng had delivered the news to him, he had not been able to speak more than those few words on ShinRa Tower's roof, remaining mute.

As the news traveled around ShinRa, as people found out their beloved Director of the Science Department had died, they learned not to ask. They understood. It was his own way of grieving.

Sephiroth wondered if they would think of him less if they knew the full extent of his grieving process.

He had not meant for it to happen. His feet had carried him of their own accord. It was over before he realized his transgression.

It had felt like there was no one in the world who would accept him, who he could lay his head on and let it out, and he thought, by some strange twisting of logic, that Genesis had opened the door, opened that possibility.

It got out of hand. He lost control.

Sephiroth closed his eyes, lips pursed in a tight, thin line. They were lowering the coffin. He couldn't look.

He could hear and feel the people leaving around him, just as distinctly as he could hear the wet slap of dirt being moved from the pile by the grave into the hole.

When Sephiroth opened his eyes, the hole was full again. Almost everyone was gone. Standing across from him was still that young woman. Her hands were clasped in prayer. He had definitely not seen her around before; why she would pray so for Gast was beyond him, though welcome, in a way.

Taking a deep breath, he rounded the headstone, giving the grave itself a respectful proximity. She looked up sharply, eyes wide, and she took a step back.

There was fear in her eyes. Undeniable terror. It was like a knife to the heart.

Sephiroth came to a stop, staring at her with his own mako green eyes. Yes, everyone knew him as the top SOLDIER; it was hard to avoid PR campaigns with him either mentioned or shown. Was he really so terrible, though? Taking a shaky breath, he opened his mouth to talk, the young woman cutting him off.

"The very ground cries out at your passing." Her words were whispered, trembling. Those bright emerald eyes of her, so vibrant and alive, were glassy with tears. She frowned, looking down, hands smoothing over her black dress. That color looked out of place on her.

"I…" Sephiroth swallowed harshly, flinching. He looked down. The grass seemed no different around his feet than it did around hers, but he still had that feeling, like she went deeper than the grass. He was not sure if she was the one reaching down into the ground, or if the ground was reaching up to link with her. It was a strange sensation, either way. "Why?"

The question hung in the warm, sunny air, a void of silence, of misunderstanding, between them. Sephiroth did not dare look up at her. Her eyes could see too deep.

"You are… unnatural. There is death in your veins. I can feel it. The Calamity survives through you." The girl was not looking directly at him, either. She clasped a hand over her breast, fidgeting. She took another step back.

"Who are you?" Sephiroth forced himself to look up at her. Her hair was the color of cinnamon, a brownish red, silken even. Her eyes still frightened him, though he didn't know why. Her skin was pale, like she did not go out much; her meager demeanor told him that. The fact that she was not afraid of him for being part of SOLDIER told volumes about her contact with the outside world as well. She probably did not even know who he was.

That was refreshing, in a way.

"Aeris. I am the daughter of…" She looked at the tombstone. Her lip wobbled. New tears left her eyes, tumbled down her cheeks.

Sephiroth took in a sharp breath. Gast had a daughter. That woman, then, must have been the mother. Sephiroth had heard nothing of this. It was hidden, a secret from even him. His silver brows furrowed in, creases forming in the smooth skin between. He was still in information overload, and that wasn't likely to end soon. "Gast was like a father to me. He raised me."

Recognition flickered on Aeris' face. She pressed her fingers to her lips, like she was surprised, perhaps angry. Sephiroth didn't care to interpret it.

Unnatural. The Calamity. Death in his veins.

Sephiroth swallowed again as the bitter taste of bile invaded his mouth. He turned, ready to leave. He couldn't stay here any longer.

"I'm sorry."

The soft words fell on deaf ears. He kept going.

0 0 0 0 0

The whole of ShinRa Tower seemed to be in mourning. His steps were slow, methodical and quiet. Whenever he made a louder step, he flinched. Too much noise felt wrong. He kept his head dipped in respect, pushing back his black hair now and then. His lips remained fixed in a serious line, almost a frown, as he paced back and forth.

Almost the entire morning, Genesis had been in one bathroom or another, vomiting. Angeal knew it had to stop eventually, as the redhead had not eaten at all yet. That could have been the problem. Or perhaps it was a bad mako injection. The raven-haired cadet did not know.

What he did know was that he needed to get Genesis up to the Science Department's level so Hollander could have a look at him. If Genesis had some virus or another, it needed to be treated as quickly as possible.

Sucking in a deep breath to steel his stomach, Angeal went in through the swinging door. He couldn't help but cringe at the sound of retching. Perhaps it was the horrible food of the cafeteria, finally caught up to Genesis. Half the time Angeal wondered if what they put on the plate was safe for human consumption.

Waiting for that wave of choking noises to fade, Angeal lifted his hand, knocking firmly on the bathroom stall door. Coughing followed, and a groan. Angeal could hear something mumbled, though he wasn't sure what.

"Genesis, do you think you can make it up to see Hollander? I really think—"

Another round of retching noises interrupted him. Angeal cringed, trying to block the noise from his head. It was a terrible, dry heaving noise, like when a tank is emptied and there is nothing left to give.

"Genesis, I am sure there is something Hollander can do for you. What if you have the flu?"

Silence followed, which was better that the previous sounds. Soon enough, the grey metal door swung open. Genesis was pale, haggard, dark circles under his eyes. Those eyes were red, skin around them puffy and pink.

Had Genesis really been vomiting enough to make himself cry? Angeal felt green just thinking about that, trying to push that thought back. Offering out an arm instead, he gave his friend a long look over. "Come on. I'll help you."

Genesis sagged heavily against Angeal, shaking from head to foot. Angeal sighed, shaking his head as he walked slowly, gingerly for his best friend's sake. This was the least he could do, and he was sure Genesis would do the same for him in return if he ever needed it. Just in case it was contagious, though, Angeal wanted to get a check up as well.

"Don't worry Genesis. You'll feel better in no time. I promise."

"On… on your honor?" Genesis' voice was weak, strained. It was raspy as well, something Angeal was not used to.

"Yes, Genesis. I promise on my honor."

Genesis managed to smile weakly, though something was… off, about it. Angeal ignored it; Genesis was just sick. Everything would be better soon.


	11. Chapter X: Wounds

**Disclaimer:** I do not own CCFF7, FF7, or any of that stuff. I just write this fanfic, and make nothing from it, so yeah.

**Warning:** Emotional trauma, disturbing images, yaoi, major AU via Gast, etc. If you're at all touchy about anything, run away now. Oh yeah, and I didn't proofread it. XD BEWARE.

**Author's Note:** It has been a LONG time since I've written any fanfiction, but I am really glad to be back. Hopefully this is up to the par I set before. XD Reviews are the best, by the way. The more reviews, the more inspiration I've got.

* * *

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter X: Wounds**

The office did not entirely feel his own, despite the amount of time he had occupied it. The old smells he had grown so used to when he was merely the second command were now there as painful reminders of what had been and never again would be. Tseng paused just inside the door, pushing it lightly closed behind him.

Immediately, he leaned back against it, inclining his head. With his short-ish ponytail it was not comfortable, but he did not care. His nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath, features relaxing. His shoulders sagged. Tseng took another healthy breath before he pushed off away from the wall, crossing the room.

The walls themselves, painted a dark, rich green, still smelled of Veld. The aroma was almost enough to drive him out of his mind, but somehow, he held on. It was a miracle. Or a curse.

It was already getting late, after hours. The Turks who were morning shift would already be on their ways home, or wherever it was they went when off duty. That was information kept in their file, but not memorized; Tseng kept tab on his Turks, but did not stalk them. That was a fine line he would not cross.

Veld had set that standard.

Tseng caught himself chewing his lip. Frowning—if only faintly, a vague flicker of emotion all that played across his porcelain face—Tseng sat, hands grasping tightly the arm rests of his chair. It did not feel like his own chair, but rather an abandoned throne of a dynasty he could never quite live up to.

He had work to get to.

The file on his desk was only half open when the phone in his inner jacket pocket started buzzing. There were only a few people in ShinRa who had that number. It had to be important. Tseng reached into his pocket, pulling out the thin, glowing phone. The name displayed on the top was Director Lazard Deusericus.

That was not who he had been expecting.

In a smooth flick, he had the phone open and pressed to his ear. The file on his desk was closed again, to be dealt with some other time. This had to be important. Lazard would not be calling him otherwise. The inherent distrust between the Turks and SOLDIER was notorious and strongly enforced. Tseng kept this in mind as he spoke into the phone, voice as low and cool as usual.

"Yes?" There was nothing else that he needed to say. If Lazard needed something, he could ask for it. Tseng was not going to interrogate the man when he had other matters he could be attending to, like the file in front of him.

"Can I speak to you?"

"You are." Tseng tapped his fingers on the file, resisting the spark of an urge to open it and only half listen to the Director of SOLDIER. As it stood, Tseng was not Director of the Turks. There was no Director. That was Veld's position, once upon a time, and now the leadership was split, misguided, and generally ignored. Tseng knew Veld's job better than anyone else in ShinRa; the decisions were all his anyway.

"In my office." Lazard's voice was always with a cunning edge, reminding Tseng of a snake prone to strike at any moment. It seemed he was always looking for opportunities, upperhands. Tseng would have to be careful of him; he always was. That would be nothing new. It almost sounded as if Lazard was smiling. "Now."

Tseng's first thought was that phone lines were not safe. They could be tapped. Bugged. Listened in to. Tseng knew his own phone was secure, but the landlines in the ShinRa building has been tapped into in the past, and that was exactly what Lazard was calling from. If this was anything of importance, they would not be able to discuss it over the phone. Lazard's office was a safer substitution; person to person was a safer substitution.

Standing, Tseng smoothed out the slight wrinkle that had formed in his black suit from sitting, however brief the stay. His tie was on straight, tight, white shirt pressed, pearly. Tseng ran a hand back over his ponytail, feeling the silken hair, confirming its flatness, the perfection of the hold.

Presentable, Tseng left his office, gait fluid, full of a dangerous sort of grace. He swiped his card quickly, out of second nature, stepping into the elevator immediately. Beyond the thick glass of the elevator shaft, Midgar twinkled away with lights and mako energy. It almost seemed quiet, peaceful, from up there. Tseng knew the truth.

With a loud ding, the elevator doors slid open.

One day, all of the executive offices might be located on the same floor. That was a bad idea. That made all of the executives easy targets for any sort of enemy attack. Everyone of importance could be taken out in one fell swoop. He was starting to think like Sephiroth now. Tseng almost smirked, continuing his quick pace down the hall, around a corner, to Lazard's office.

He did not have the knock. The door slid open, Tseng walking straight in.

Lazard was standing behind his desk, slightly to the right, a tray set out on the sleek glass and metal before him. There were two glasses, made with intricate detail, a little metal bin of ice, tongs, a bottle with glistening amber liquid inside. Lazard was lifting the bottle with his glove encased hands, slashing out a little bit of the liquid into the glasses, over two cubes of ice each.

This made Tseng's frown return instantly. Tseng flicked his jacket sleeve as though to straighten it; it was already straight. It was a frustrated habit of his. "I hope this is not what you called me here for. I have important matters to deal with."

The Director looked up, a sleek smile spreading upon his lips. At times it seemed as though Lazard counted him as a friend. Other times it was strictly business. Tseng would rather stick with the latter; he had not joined ShinRa to make friends.

He had already made that mistake—worse than that mistake—with Veld.

"It's after hours." Lazard's blue eyes were narrowed dangerously behind his rectangular glasses, vision sharp, cunning like a predator on the prowl. That look did not make Tseng any more comfortable; he was always on his guard. "You look tense."

With a smirk, Lazard picked up the glasses, walking over with a confident swagger. He offered one glass out to Tseng. The Wutaian Turk's eyes flickered between the glasses, dark slits, before he took the other glass, the one Lazard was holding closer.

Even then, Tseng took a sniff of the glass, the liquid, before allowing the smallest amount to touch his lips. He did not let it go through. Tseng knew how his body handled alcohol, and was not willing to put himself under the influence of it in Lazard's presence, much less inside the ShinRa tower while he was still technically on duty.

"Always the cautious one." Lazard chuckled, taking a healthy sip of his drink.

"I have to be." Tseng lowered the glass, holding it by his fingertips pressing just below the rim. He was not interested in a drink, or in this conversation. "What do you want?"

Lazard did not take his eyes off him. Tseng could not help but notice the way those blue eyes raked up his suit, back down it, lingering here and there on his form. That was not the sort of look one used to appraise an enemy, nor was it the kind used to check a friend's suit before an important meeting. Those eyes were searching for something more.

It was obvious what he wanted.

Tseng pursed his lips, their becoming a thin, displeased line. His dark eyes locked on the far wall. If Lazard did not quickly come up with a business reason for Tseng to be here, he was leaving, immediately, and probably not dealing with him personally for some time to come.

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it yourself." Lazard still had that confident smirk on his lips, his strut taking him around to Tseng's side. The Wutaian Turk did not turn, but kept his eyes on the Director of SOLDIER. Though Lazard was not trained like a SOLDIER, Tseng was certain that Lazard was not entirely dumb when it came to self defense, or the attack. He did deal with strategy often, after all.

"And if I do not even know what you are talking about?" Tseng kept his voice low, cool, unaffected. The last thing he wanted to show was how much this truly bothered him. It had to be hidden beneath his usual stone mask. That was how he functioned in ShinRa: behind a veil.

Lazard actually laughed at this. His eyes were twinkling in a way that was more than just dangerous. It was hungry. Tseng repressed a shudder. He focused once more on the far wall, eyes refusing to focus. Lazard was still in his peripheral, and had not yet made a move.

"Oh, come on. You can't be Mr. Business all the time." Lazard took a step closer, Tseng's eyes traveling back over to him, a warning. It was a warning Lazard did not heed, as Lazard took yet another step closer.

His fingers were trembling, white with the pressure as he gripped the glass hard. He was surprised it did not break, then again, Lazard was never one to be cheap. His office said that much.

"Relax." That word, low, almost a purr, was breathed into his ear, hot breath making the fine hairs down his neck stand on end. It took all of Tseng's restraint not to shiver, unpleasantly, at the feeling.

It was when Lazard's teeth scraped over the rim of his ear that the line was crossed.

In a flash his gun was out, strong legs springing, propelling him a few feet away. That sleek firearm, material glowing along the shaft, was pointed straight for Lazard's head, though his arm was not as steady as it might have been. His hand was shaking. His whole body was trembling, quaking, anger no doubt flashing as a subtle flush in his fair cheeks and in the dark glint of his eyes.

"Don't you dare touch me!"

Tseng carefully set the glass down on the table which was only a pace behind him, pulling his now free left hand up to cradle the bottom of his gun, steady his aim. The sudden surge of rage, at least the blinding part of it, had subsided. Now he could think, could see, but was no less furious as Lazard's advances.

He did not know.

Tseng wetted his lips, rolling them briefly together. He took a deep breath. It slightly calmed his shaking, but did not entirely take it away.

This was not a way to build business relationships.

Tseng slowly put his gun back in its side holster, never once taking his eyes off Lazard. Lazard was ghastly pale, eyes wide. It was not a good look on him. He was shaking too, only it was probably out of fear. Tseng could see the slight sheen of sweat over his skin. It was definitely fear.

Taking a deep breath, not bothering with an explanation he could not possibly give, Tseng turned on his heel and left.

What would he say? That his heart belonged to a man who no longer served ShinRa? That was supposedly dead but was still out there, somewhere? That he could never see again, because he was under direct orders to shoot to kill if he did?

Tseng would rather say nothing at all. Without a hint, Lazard would never guess his wounds.

0 0 0 0 0

The nausea was still there.

At first, Genesis had thought it was merely a physical response to the psychological stress brought by the knowledge of just why Sephiroth slept with him. It was harsh, shocking, definitely enough to make him sick to his stomach.

When he was still nauseas later, he started to worry. The initial shock had worn off. He'd read about people doing that sort of thing to cope enough times for it not to take him completely off guard. But Sephiroth?

Groaning, Genesis started walking again. He was a bit paler than usual, and he had always prided himself on his fair skin. Whenever he passed by a sheet of glass—and there were many in the near clinical ShinRa building—he couldn't help but notice just how bright his eyes were. It was like someone had replaced his irises with glowing blue material.

Perhaps it was just the headache.

Genesis had to pause again as he rounded another corner, having turned it too fast. His head swam. Blinking it off, Genesis forced his legs to move once more, feet shuffling forward. He had duty tonight, at least training rounds, and then he had to shadow a SOLDIER on his duties, but that was fine. It was all part of the learning process.

Soon enough, he and Angeal would no longer be cadets. They'd be full on SOLDIERs. He could barely wait… but he had to.

Roughly, Genesis knocked on a metal door, counting the seconds with shaky breaths as he waited. After about a minute, the door slid open, Hollander standing on the other side of it.

The short, somewhat round man practically dragged Genesis inside with just one glance at him. Genesis tried to chuckle; he must have looked pretty bad to get that kind of response. Or Hollander was just a mother hen. He knew his own mother probably wouldn't have cared that much if he was ill, even if it was this bad.

"What happened?"

It took three tries before he could get words out, and that made his stomach lurch. "No clue." Genesis tried to shrug, stomach doing another summersault. Slowly, he made it over to an examination table, forcing himself to sit down with a flinch.

Everything was more sensitive. His skin felt like it was crawling with life, only it was overwhelming, the slightest shift in air causing the fine red hairs to stand on end. The coarse fibers of his SOLDIER cadet uniform felt like a sheet of rough sandpaper, though he knew it wasn't. It was just his mind, his nerves, playing tricks on him.

"You're running a fever." Hollander pressed the back of his hand to Genesis' clammy forehead. "You're shaking." Hollander frowned, getting a clipboard. He noted some things down on it. Next he wheeled over a little machine, full of screens and tubes and whatnot, all things Genesis could understand, but didn't care to.

Hollander fiddled with the controls. It was probably hard for him to see in the small, dim lab. Genesis could see fine. In fact, everything was glaringly bright, even though there was only one lamp on, and it was on the other side of the lab, pointed away. There was a prick on his arm; Genesis almost jumped, but managed to stop himself, least he lose what little food he'd been able to stuff down today.

"This is strange…" Hollander had a habit of mumbling to himself. Genesis was used to it by now, though it was still annoying. "Your mako readings are off the chart. Did someone give you a mako injection off schedule?"

Genesis couldn't help but snort. He'd received a mako injection, alright. Great, so Sephiroth had given him mako poisoning. That was almost hilarious. It would have been if it hadn't been him with the mako overdose.

"No." It was hard to repress a laugh when saying that. He managed. "Can I… please have anti-nausea…" Genesis pressed the back of his gloved hand to his lips, swallowing. It was rough, but he would rather not vomit right now.

Hollander hurried off without having to hear the rest of the sentence, returning with a few syringes. Genesis just hoped that he would be sound for duty tonight. He did not need anyone asking questions.

0 0 0 0 0

Leo stretched up, taking a deep breath as he did so. It felt good, just stretching up into the air like that after such a hard workout. He turned his head this way and that, reveling in the relaxation. It was just another day in the training room… though Sephiroth was missing.

It was no surprise. Leo felt bad for him, losing his father figure like that, especially since his mother was already dead. Sephiroth was definitely mature enough to take care of himself, but still… Leo sighed, jumping up and grabbing the bar overhead, hoisting himself up so his chin was above it before lowering himself again.

Even if Sephiroth wasn't there, they would all train hard for him. That was how their loyalty went.

It was mostly Seconds in the room. There were a few Thirds, though they were off in their own corner; it looked like they were playing with the weights more than actually using them. The Seconds were scattered all over, doing whatever they needed. There was still a little socializing, but no real horsing around. They knew better.

There was one First in the room, Rico, a quiet guy from who knew where. Leo never really talked to him, though he'd seen him now and then. He had to be good to have made it to First. That was a rare honor, after all.

Leo really wanted to get there someday.

The main door whirred open. Leo hopped down from the pull-up bar, turning just as every other person did, eyes trained to the door. The person who waltzed through the door was not who he had been expecting at all.

It was the redheaded cadet, the one who had arrived recently to the ShinRa tower, who he had shown to a room on the SOLDIER floor. Leo could notice the changes in him instantly. The young man was stronger, muscles really starting to take a firm shape. His hair was slightly shorter, though it was hardly a notable change. It was just as fiery. The eyes were the most dramatic difference. Though they had boasted a slight mako sheen to them, they absolutely glowed now, a vibrant cobalt blue, flashing with every subtle movement.

The change was almost frightening.

With a slight twitch, Genesis walked into the room, gait airy, graceful, rippling with confidence and a strength Leo did not recognize from before. Leo peeled his eyes away, finally, seeing how all the others were still staring, wondering. None of them knew who he was.

Rico was the first one to move, striding right up to Genesis, stopping in front of him like a barred door. Rico crossed his arms. "Clearance to be in here?"

Genesis' eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He was paler than Leo remembered. There was a dangerous edge about him. Genesis tilted his head just slightly to the side, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "I am here for my scheduled training."

He made to step around the First, the black uniformed SOLDIER stepping to get back in his way. "Name?"

A chuckle bubbled from Genesis' lips, ringing with a tinge of venom in the near silent air. The tension in the training room was taut enough to snap. Everyone was braced for it. "Genesis Rhapsodos."

A murmur rippled around the room. Leo could hear some of the whispers. Hollander. Experiments. Sephiroth. There were too many different whispers to keep track of them all, though all the chatter seemed to trace back to Hollander.

Leo did not know much about Hollander. Sometimes his mako treatments were from the scientist. The man was always wearing a Banora apples shirt, his hair disheveled, lab coat undone. Leo thought the man looked rather frantic. From what he understood, Hollander was always traveling, usually back to Banora, though he had been in the tower a lot more lately.

"I was assigned to this regimen by Sephiroth—"

"Show some respect! It's Commander Crescent to you!" Rico's gloved hands were balled into shaking fists. Genesis seemed completely unaffected. There was a certain glaze to his eyes, to his affect, which screamed of medication. Leo couldn't quite place it, though.

There was something off about this.

"May I get to my assignment, _Sir_?" Genesis shifted, just slightly. He flicked a hand through his hair, smirk still in place.

"And what's that?"

"Sparring. I'm supposed to spar one…" Genesis looked up, as though he would find the name in the air and pluck it out. Leo wouldn't be surprised if he did. "… Leo Elstair."

Leo blinked a few times, brows furrowing in. He wanted to know exactly _why_ he wasn't informed of this, but would never, ever question Sephiroth's judgment. If he thought Genesis should spar him, then that was what would happen. It wasn't his place to back down from orders.

Rico was an entirely different story. He glanced at Leo, shaking his head, a hand out to keep him at bay. Leo stayed where he was. That was when Rico turned back to face Genesis. "How about you spar me?"

Genesis quite obviously looked the SOLDIER up and down, and then snorted, though his words did not reflect his unveiled disinterest. "What business would I have sparring a First?"

"I don't see what business you have sparring a Second, either." Rico jerked his head towards the sparring floor. "Go choose your weapon."

Something Leo had never seen from Rico before: a malicious smile. That was exactly what he had when he stalked after Genesis onto the sparring floor.

This worried him. This really worried him.

0 0 0 0 0

It had not been a difficult thing, to keep quiet, to keep back, out of notice. There was a standard issue SOLDIER uniform in his closet, more than one in all actuality. A First Class black one would have been too obvious, so he pulled on the blue of a Second. He wound his hair up, pinning it atop his head before sliding on the concealing helmet of a Second.

Though helmets were not needed inside the ShinRa tower, many SOLDIERs wore them in training for safety, which was a good practice. The more used to fighting in those helmets they were, they better it would be on the field when they were needed.

What he needed, right now, was stress relief. He needed to unwind, uncoil, and the way he had tried before was destructive, unacceptable.

He was in the training room, surrounded by SOLDIERs, unknown to them, when Genesis had come in.

Having worked with the redhead a great deal since his arrival at SOLDIER, Sephiroth knew something was off immediately. He could practically smell the mako, the medication, which flowed through his veins, glowed in his eyes.

Stepping forward to end this confrontation would give away who he was, what he did when he did not want to deal with the formalities, the fame, the supposed honor. He was there to serve SOLDIER, not to be an idol.

Sephiroth stayed where he was, off to the side, watching tensely. The fact that Rico was undermining his authority, so blatantly, was surprising, but then again, not everyone in SOLDIER felt the same loyalty to ShinRa and sense of duty as he did. He had grown up in the tower, after all.

Everyone gathered around to watch as Genesis and Rico made their ways onto the sparring floor, making it easy for Sephiroth to slide into the ranks, go unnoticed as he watched.

When he came here, he was wanting to get away from it all. From Gast's death. From his way of "coping". He had been so absorbed in distracting himself that he had forgotten the schedule he set up for the cadets under his care.

This was not the kind of mental state he should be in for commanding SOLDIERs.

Sephiroth wove his way to the front of the small mass, standing right at the rim of the sparring area with its polished floors and damage resistant mirrors. He needed to see this, regulate it, make sure it did not get out of hand.

Genesis moved quickly into his combat position, a stance Sephiroth had corrected him on a few times, but the redhead seemed to get it perfectly now. Sephiroth noted just how every angle of his body was constructed, nodding slightly to himself.

Somehow, Leo Elstair had ended up next to him, though he was sure the Second did not realize just who he was. Leo looked more nervous than excited. "His stance is excellent."

This time, Sephiroth nodded more noticeably. He could not speak. That would give him away. The non-verbal gesture was fine, and communicated just as well.

Rico attacked first, diving at him. Genesis rolled easily out of the way, lunging forward with a punch Rico barely turned away from. A few of the audience SOLDIERs let out "oooo"s and hisses. A few even flinched. The dance continued. Genesis was much, much faster than Rico, though Rico was strong enough to knock many Thirds out with a single punch.

It was nerve-racking, watching this.

Genesis spun, kicked, foot contacting a strong, meaty shoulder. It was right at the joint, in towards the pectoral muscle, close to the armpit. Rico staggered back, Genesis reversing his momentum for a kick at the back of a leg, buckling it.

The way Genesis moved was graceful and fine tuned, but no doubt enhanced by the surplus of mako pumping through him. Sephiroth had to wonder about that…

In a matter of moments, Rico was on the ground, panting hard, Genesis standing over him, breathing barely altered. There was a cocky smirk on Genesis' lips. That was not a look, a disposition, Sephiroth liked on Genesis. He wanted the redhead to feel the same way about SOLDIER as he did, not to be corrupted by the power of it.

There was still hope, so long as some wounds, like the one between them, did not fester.


	12. Chapter XI: The Ladder

**Disclaimer:** I do not own CCFF7 or any of that stuff. I just write these crazy fanfics. XD

**Warnings:** lots? Morbid topics, m//, language, Genesis being Genesis, etc.

**Author's Note:** I really want to write as much as possible during my winter break from uni, 'cause I don't know how much of a chance I'm going to get to write during next semester. Here's to knocking this out of the ballpark? And also, check out my new poll on my profile! Vote! It's about this fic!

* * *

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter XI: The Ladder**

The clamor in the Science Department had died down, if only slightly. People were still rushing around, though it was to get more work done, to look better in the eyes of President ShinRa and any lackeys he might send down to survey them. It was like they actually thought the top seat in the department was open for contest.

Hojo knew how many people were in the running for that seat over the Science department. Two. There were just two people serving ShinRa with the qualifications to even be considered for the post, much less actually operate effectively in it. Those people were himself, of course, and Hollander.

The decision would not be made immediately. It was too soon. The department, a great deal of the rest of ShinRa, was still in mourning for Gast. The loss of Gast was a surprising one for everyone.

He did not even try to imitate surprise. Acting had never been one of his interests, nor did he feel it necessary. He was the one who ordered the infantrymen to shoot Gast, after all. Tseng knew this, and if that snake of a Turk wanted to tell all of ShinRa, that was life. Hojo had enough evidence, enough leverage, in order to ride out any sort of storm the Turks might try to stir up.

Would there be a storm, though? Hojo did not think so. His eyes focused on the massive glass chamber ahead of him, through his own glasses, perched on his thin nose. A frown was on his lips, even as he mused about perhaps winning that seat at the top of the department.

Perhaps? There was no perhaps about it. Hojo knew he would come out on top. He had heard of the redheaded one of Hollander's experiments coming down ill (selectively deciding to ignore the fact that the same day, that same test subject had defeated a SOLDIER First Class without breaking a sweat). If many more of these incidents happened, Hollander would be out of the running all together.

That was what he was looking forward to.

Hojo pressed down a button, pulling back on a lever. He spun a wheel on the panel, pressing another button, typing in a command on the keyboard. The glow of mako energy run machinery lit up his dark eyes. If anyone was in the lab with him, they would have been able to see the cogs turning in his head.

He would find a weakness, perhaps not in Hollander himself, but in his subjects, his prized experiments, and when he found that fizzure, he would chip away until nothing was left but the seat of the Science Department, ready for the taking.

Sephiroth would be his trump card.

0 0 0 0 0

"There is reason to believe that AVALANCHE has been here recently." Reno was frowning, nose wrinkled. His flaming red hair rustled in the slight breeze.

The normally peaceful cemetery was swarmed with Turks, the solace and sanctuary brought by it momentarily shattered. Thankfully, no other people were here, no people were paying their respects and mourning at the graveside. Tseng was glad for that, even if it felt wrong to bring business into the cemetery.

Business had technically brought itself.

"Were there any eyewitnesses?"

"No." Reno shook his head, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. His shirt was untucked again, and his tie was nowhere to be found. Tseng wished he would at least try to look more professional. "Not a one. There aren't any security cameras around here, either."

"Of course not." Tseng pursed his lips. He was glad for the lack of security cameras in the place. This was supposed to be a private place, where one did not have to worry about how they expressed their sorrows for the dead. Security cameras would ruin that.

Reno shrugged again, rolling his eyes. "If this were the ShinRa building, we'd have caught these people already. Security cameras. Y'know, the full shebang."

He obviously was not about to get it. Tseng did not push the subject.

"So, where is the evidence of AVALANCHE's intrusion?"

"Right back here." Reno pulled a hand out of his pocket, motioning for Tseng to follow. He led back along the cobblestone path, further and further into the cemetery, until they were at the very back.

Atop Veld's grave was a bouquet of flowers, bright and vibrant, obviously not from around the Midgar area. Probably from Kalm, if it truly was AVALANCHE they were dealing with. Tseng knelt down, opening the little tag attached to the flowers.

_You were loved_.

Tseng's eyes narrowed. He recognized that handwriting.

It was Lazard.

The sneaky bastard had figured it out somehow.

With a frown, brows dipping in, Tseng stood. He had to cover this up, and smoothly. "I want you to secure the area and post constant surveillance. There is a chance whoever planted this may return."

"Sure thing, Boss." Reno smiled, heading off with a saunter. Though Reno never seemed to like taking orders, he sure did enjoy giving them. Tseng knew to play to that. It would distract Reno from asking any questions.

0 0 0 0 0

Test results had finally come in. All of the numbers were compiled, figures tabulated, and now, the big results. Genesis was not exactly nervous.

That was a lie. He was nervous. Very. He'd done well enough on the initial exams to place him at the top of his class, but since then, a lot had happened. Firstly, he'd crossed a professional line by kissing Sephiroth. Next, Sephiroth used him. And then he had fought a SOLDIER First Class, and won. Genesis was not sure if that should be considered a good or a bad thing.

It could go either way.

In this situation, he really didn't know who he would have to blow to get this promotion.

Sighing, Genesis strummed his fingers against his bare arms, ignoring the goose bumps on them. It was a little chilly on the SOLDIER floor today. Genesis did not care to ask why. His eyes were fixed firmly on the SOLDIERs who were unfurling the final test and evaluation information.

Even with his mako sharpened vision, he could not make out what any of the lines said, their printed too small and hung too far away. They were supposed to stay back until everything was hung, so there wasn't a stampede. Genesis was about at the end of his nearly non-existent patience.

"Are all the cadets here?" One of the SOLDIERs up at the wall called out, hands cupped over his lips. He motioned for them to gather around, finally.

Genesis pushed himself away from the wall, walking with quick strides for the gathered SOLDIER members who were blocking off the pages of information, now stuck to the metal walls. He wondered what President ShinRa thought about _that_. The thought made him snicker.

He came to stand behind a few rows of eager cadets, all craning their heads in hopes of seeing over the SOLDIERs' shoulders, which was not going to happen. Those SOLDIERs were tall and built. Genesis did not even bother, hanging back, waiting for it. Angeal was right beside him, excited, but much better at hiding it.

When they first arrived in Midgar, Angeal was bouncing around like a loose material with a mind of its own, but now, now he had matured, sobered somewhat. It was like he was more grounded, though he had the same flighty ideals as before.

Genesis was not sure how he felt about the change.

There was no doubt a change in him, too. Genesis saw the way people looked at him. Before, people almost looked at him as a joke. As much as Genesis hated to admit it, they did. He was the rich governor's promiscuous son who quoted poetry and flaunted himself about. What was there to take serious?

Now there was something else. Genesis could see awe, at least from those who had seen the battle between him and the First, or any of his training sessions. There was a certain amount of fear, too. Genesis could not miss it, nor could he really pinpoint it. It had been nagging at him for a while now.

It was almost the same sort of fear he sensed from others when they saw Sephiroth.

Genesis frowned. He did not want to think about the silver haired SOLDIER poster-boy right now. There were bigger fish to fry.

"Those who did not pass their evaluations or exams will be escorted from the ShinRa building immediately." The SOLDIER leading this three ring circus nodded towards the side of the room. That was when Genesis noticed them. Turks. Had they really been there the whole time? "Everyone else will be asked to return to the quarters to don dress uniforms for tonight's ceremony."

The ceremony mentioned was no doubt a graduation ceremony of some sort. Genesis was not sure the logistics, but it seemed logical enough. Not that he followed logic much. Genesis smirked, waiting impatiently for the SOLDIERs blocking the scores to move.

One of the SOLDIERs pulled out a metal pad, no doubt pulling up a list on it. The lead SOLDIER of the group starting giving names as well as pass or fail. If the cadet passed, there was also a number included. Genesis quickly figured out that it was where in their class they graduated.

There weren't as many passes as he expected, especially with such a large group. Ten. Ten people passed. Almost all of the names were fails. The standards were high, which was why SOLDIER was so well known.

Genesis' name was called last. Pass. One. Genesis nodded, letting out a shaky breath, all of his muscle tension, the anxiety, releasing with it.

It felt good to be on top.

Angeal clapped him on the arm, a smile spreading on his lips. His eyes, more a sapphire than dark brown now, twinkling with excitement. Genesis smiled. This was just a first step up on the ShinRa ladder, and he didn't have any plans of stopping sometime soon.

0 0 0 0 0

All the cadets under Sephiroth's tutelage had passed their examinations and evaluations with notes of excellence. The first few cadet classes where this happened, Sephiroth had been genuinely surprised, honored even, to see that his pupils had been inspired so by his presence and guidance as to succeed wholeheartedly. It had been a few years now, and that happened every time.

Though he was glad they had all passed, and all done so up to his standards, Sephiroth was not certain how he felt about it.

The death of Professor Gast was still fresh in his mind, an unhealed wound in his heart, a vacancy he knew would never be filled. Gast was the only parent he ever had. Who could possibly fill that role? No one. Sephiroth knew that with certainty, and it hurt. There was a clinching in his chest, a lump in his throat, all of which had to be pushed back, suppressed, so he could properly perform his duties as a SOLDIER First Class.

This was supposed to be a celebration of those people who were newly joining SOLDIER, not those who SOLDIER lost.

For this sort of situation Sephiroth might have worn a suit, but the only one he owned had been donned at Gast's funeral, not long past. That suit was discarded in the back of his closet, hopefully to never be seen again. His leather trench, one buckle done, same material pants, boots, and gloves would have to do.

No one seemed to mind. That was what everyone expected the silver haired youth in. Most of them probably could not imagine Sephiroth in anything other than that.

A small tracery of a smile tugged at his pale lips. Sephiroth rolled his wrist slightly, the wine in his glass swirling in lazy circles. The red wine was spiced, with a hint of oak and other things he could not quite identify. His senses were keen, but it was a very rare occasion that he had anything like this. Sephiroth did not even know if it was possible for him to get at all inebriated, though he would probably never try.

The cadets, now SOLDIER Third Classes, were all starting to arrive, in dress uniforms which were too much like corporate suits to be of use anywhere but this celebration. If something were to happen, and there was a call to arms, they would be utterly unprepared, to say the least.

"You should be enjoying yourself, Commander." Lazard slid up beside Sephiroth, his usual superior smile stretched plastically on his lips. His eyes glittered with a certain kind of glee Sephiroth did not like; it made his skin crawl, just slightly. Lazard's gaze was following someone. For now, Sephiroth did not try to trace it to someone.

"Good evening, Director."

"It was another successful group for you." Lazard took a sip of his own wine, white wine rather than the red Sephiroth sported. His eyes were still elsewhere, even if his attention seemed to be on Sephiroth. He was not fooled. "Another victory under your belt."

"It was an easy task with the material I was provided." Sephiroth let his own gaze trail off towards the small cluster of cadets. They were sticking together, almost like scared sheep. Soon they would not be so timid of ShinRa or its upper crust. At least that was hoped, as they had to defend those people as part of their duty.

"So you are saying they trained themselves?"

"Two of the cadets practically did." Sephiroth focused visually on the two cadets he spoke of. Genesis Rhapsodos and Angeal Hewley were at the edge of the crowd of cadets, seemingly uninterested in the others of the group. They were the only two who had received mako treatments out of that group. There was something else about them that was different, too, something that made them feel familiar.

Sephiroth looked away. Rather than concentrating on it, on them, on Genesis specifically, Sephiroth finally traced Lazard's field of vision. Those blue eyes were following one of the Turks, Tseng, the Wutaian one. Considering how ShinRa's relations were with Wutai, Sephiroth did not trust the man, even if he did work directly for President ShinRa and could have assassinated the man a million times over but had not taken the opportunity.

That distrust had only arisen since Gast's death, since Tseng returned to Midgar covered in Gast's blood, after supposedly trying to save him. A flicker of anger churned inside him.

Those sensations were pushed back. There was no need for such thoughts. The Turks were constantly doing investigations on one another, making sure they were all fit for such a prestigious and dangerous duty. If Tseng was a rat, a snake, anything of the sort, the other Turks would be the first to find out about it.

Quite suddenly, the cadets broke their tight formation, moving into a line.

The graduation ceremony was about to start.

"Thank you for entertaining me for a moment, Commander, but I must be off now." Lazard started off before receiving a response, weaving through what crowd was there, which was not much. These ceremonies were always kept small. ShinRa personnel could not all be off duty at once; even though this was a ceremony, a celebration, most of the people present were still on duty.

That was how things went in ShinRa.

A few moments passed before Lazard was up in front of everyone, giving a speech about how wonderful it was to welcome in a new group of young men to the SOLDIER family, and how they would hold up the high standards of the organization. The speech did not feel like it was going to end.

When it finally did, Sephiroth lifted his glass in salute to it.

Lazard was right. This was the best cadet class to date, the most promising, and would probably be the last of such caliber. Sephiroth had a feeling that things in SOLDIER, in ShinRa, were on their way to change, and Hollander's test subjects were just the beginning.


	13. Chapter XII: Just Budding

**Disclaimer:** I do not own CCFF7, FF7, or any of that. Thank Square Soft/Square Enix for that. I merely write these profit-free fanfics. Of doom.

**Warming:** AU via Gast surviving longer, yaoi, language, mature themes, violence, masturbation, general kinkiness, blood, a somewhat disturbing image/scenario, etc. If you don't like any of these things, I'm surprised you've read this far. XD Run away now.

**Author's Note:** I've gotten my inspiration back? Yeah, like that's not obvious. I am having way too much fun with this story twist, and I hope you are all having fun too. R&R is always cherished! My muses survive off reviews, so, keep feeding them and they'll keep feeding you! And go vote on the poll on my profile! It's about this fic!

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter XII: Just Budding**

The sun was glaring bright across the green field, thick grass matted down from continued routines, but not yet dead. The mako reactors of Midgar were far enough away that they had not killed this plant life, the suction of their turbines and pumps and tubes somewhat isolated. Somewhat.

Supposedly, Midgar used to be green. Leo had never seen it for himself, but that was how the story went. Looking out towards it now, with its smog-riddled clouds, a constant shroud, and the wilted, grey plants around it, one would never guess.

Sharply, Leo swiveled on his heel, continuing his march. He was at the front of the line, an example separated from everyone else. Today, that everyone else was comprised of the new SOLDIER members. This was their first time in formation, marching in the morning sun outside of Midgar. It was a routine Leo had come to cherish.

How much the new SOLDIERs and the other SOLDIER Third Classes were enjoying this routine was an entirely different matter.

Leo glanced slightly to the side, just enough to see the march of said other SOLDIERs. Some were doing better than others. He was sure he could pick out the ones who had been tutored by Sephiroth from those who hadn't been, but then again, some people just tried harder.

The one Leo understood to be Angeal was doing everything exactly as instructed, falling straight into line, having a solid grasp on the stances, turns, speed, everything. His marching, his staying in formation, it was all flawless. Genesis had a touch more flare and grace to his movements. He was embellishing just about everything, which the Director might appreciate, but he was sure Sephiroth would not.

Sephiroth stood at the head of the field, watching over everything, even though he was not commanding these drills. He was merely an observer, a set of keen eyes. The SOLDIERs on the field were all very self-conscious, all trying their hardest, though a few were over correcting themselves.

Leo could remember when he was out marching the field, back as straight as he could get it, chin held high, knees lifted up, steps firm, all in hopes of impressing Sephiroth. Now all of those SOLDIERs were in his place, trying to do exactly the same, trying to move up the ranks from SOLDIER Third Class to Second Class, beyond.

First was a rare honor, but there were a few people with that designation, Sephiroth the most notable of them. Leo sighed. That was where he wanted to be, in those prestigious ranks. His evaluation period was about to start; there would be a lot of eyes on him.

He could only hope that he would be able to make it through and pull out with a new uniform and the designation of SOLDIER First Class.

The sound of helicopter blades cut through the stops of marching. The sleek black helicopter touched down a little way off the field, a man in a black suit stepping out. His walk was graceful, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Tseng. Leo knew the name, but did not know the person. He only knew that he wasn't to trust the Turks, which he was perfectly fine with.

The Wutaian Turk walked straight to Sephiroth, speaking lowly to him. Sephiroth barely turned his head, then nodded. He pivoted easily on a heel, long silver hair swishing behind him with the sudden motion, wagging as he walked, until the turbulence of the still swishing helicopter blades made that hair whip around. Sephiroth quickly grabbed it, holding the silver locks still as he ducked into the helicopter.

In a matter of moments, it took off and was heading back to Midgar, vanishing quickly.

Leo kept marching. The commanding officer of these early morning drills had not signaled for them to stop, so he had no intentions to, even if he was curious as to why a Turk came to retrieve Sephiroth.

0 0 0 0 0

The sky outside was dark, a starless void, Midgar twinkling below with the bright green of mako energy. It was like a reverse world, with a glimmering sky below him and the dead world above him. It was late, people going home, turning out lights, finally retiring after a long day's work. That was not what Lazard was about to do.

There was still work to be done. There always would be, if he wanted the position as Vice President short of killing Rufus ShinRa, who was no doubt the one lined up for it. What he had on the brat was age, age and experience. President ShinRa would have to announce a Vice President sooner rather than later, and with Rufus so young, there was absolutely no chance the kid was going to get it.

Right along with working hard went playing hard. Though he put on a cool, reserved but still charismatic and smooth front before his SOLDIERs, before other employees of ShinRa, Lazard definitely knew how to play hard. Yes, he could go listen to swanky music at the Goblin Bar, sip drinks, smoke a cigar. Those were the expected things, though.

Sometimes, the unexpected was right up his alley. The sneak attack, the surprise, it was all something he enjoyed. Receiving surprises, not so much, but delivering them, definitely. That was exactly what he planned on doing to this company.

Right now, however, he had other things on his mind.

Lazard slipped his hands in his pinstripe blazer jacket, a slight smile curving onto his lips as he stared out over Midgar. Inside his right pocket was a gun, the metal cold despite its proximity to his skin, the material equipped to it pulsing with energy.

He hadn't dared pull it out earlier, lest one of the Turks happen in. Any of them would recognize the weapon immediately, report a security breech, and there would be hell to pay. If he were to shoot one of the top ShinRa board members with Tseng's gun, wipe the gun down, leave it back in the Turk's office, which he hacked his way into, there would be no knowing that it wasn't the Turk himself.

That wasn't Lazard's intention tonight, even if he wanted to kill the brat ShinRa very badly. No, he would play the fair fight… for now. When backed into a corner, people would do a lot of things they wouldn't normally.

Running a finger along the gun, shivering at its feel, even through his white gloves, Lazard turned, walking away from the large windows of the SOLDIER floor.

For the most part, the ShinRa building was shutting down its operations, only necessary personnel kept on staff, like a very basic guard patrolling unlocked corridors and the Turks needed to protect both the President and his snobbish son. There were technicians manning the security cameras as well, but he knew how to do a very basic bypass of their feed.

Slowly but surely Lazard was learning every little detail about the company. He planned on using that as leverage to move up the ranks. If he could improve security, efficiency, everything, why wouldn't he be chosen?

A smug smile had formed on his lips by the time he reached the elevator, doors sliding shut, taking him up to his office. He traced a finger around one of the pulsing material. Though he did not have too much exposure to combat, to weaponry, Lazard could tell that the material was fully mastered, all of them. Tseng had put a great deal of work into this gun.

Lazard almost felt bad about this.

Almost.

With a ding, the elevator doors slid open, and soon he was approaching his office. Curtly, quickly, he dismissed the guarding SOLDIERs, going promptly inside and locking the door. Before setting down to anything, he swept the room for any unwanted watchers, the camera in the corner the only one.

That camera had to be taken care of. Lazard sat down at his computer, and in a matter of moments, the feed was looped to look like he was typing at his computer. He was getting faster. Whether or not such skills would be of use was still up in the air, but it was good to know he could do it. Lazard had been worried for a moment, with his somewhat slow learning curve when it came to the subject.

Lazard leaned back, waving at the now inactive camera as his other ungloved hand unbuttoned his suit blazer, flicking it off. After a moment he decided to keep his gloves on. Lazard pulled the gun from his pocket, slowly, reverently, a giddy twinkle in his eyes.

With how Tseng had reacted to his advances, this might be as close as he ever got to the man. That was a shame. Such beauty, to be wasted on someone who was dead. Lazard sighed. The cards had been dealt, and now he had one chance to make this interesting… and hopefully he would be finished before Tseng realized his gun was missing from his office.

Both of his hands were at work, one raising the gun to eye level, gazing fully on it; he flicked the safety on. His other hand was undoing his pants, pulling his shirt tails out of the way, pulling his boxer briefs open. A shiver ran down his legs, up his spine. The air was a touch bit cooler than he had been expecting, but that was fine. Tseng's gun would be colder.

The smug grin on his lips melded into a wicked one as he kissed the barrel of the gun, the metal searing cold against his hot, moist lips. He slid it further into his mouth, relishing in the feeling, wishing it was not just a gun, but something more permanently attached to the gun's owner. His tongue rolled around the barrel flicking it, eyes fluttering shut, if only for a moment.

An idea flickered in his mind, forming, and would not let go. Lazard shifted his position on his chair, slipping his pants down, propping a leg up. He slid the gun from his mouth, licking his lips. They tasted of metal. It was thrilling in a way.

His free hand (it was hardly free, considering the fact that he was stroking himself quite firmly) went to his desk, one of the drawers. Inside was a discrete tube, filled with lubricant, not that anyone would guess it. At least he hoped not. Lazard took the tube, snapping open the top, squeezing a clear line of it around the tip of the barrel, a little down the slide.

Putting the lube back, closing the drawer, Lazard spread the lubricant about, metal quickly becoming glossy, slick. He played with toys on a regular basis, yes, but he knew this, with its abnormal shape, was going to be rough, to hurt. That was part of the thrill.

Lazard trailed the gun down, shivering as he ran the tip around his entrance, the lube feeling frigid now that it was on the gun. He bit his lip, tilting his head back as he pressed, ever so slightly towards himself with the gun-hand. Lazard flinched, pain rippling through him as the gun stretched him, quickly, too quickly. He should have prepped himself with a finger, with extra lubricant, but he had been too eager to get to the prize.

Someday that personality trait of his would lead to his downfall.

Licking his lips to wet them, Lazard pushed again, cool metal sliding into him, heating up, if only slightly. It stung in a good way, sending thrills in tendrils up his every nerve. Lazard pushed further, feeling the slide push back inside him, a muffled click rising to his ears.

A loud moan tumbled from his lips as he pulled the gun barrel most of the way back out. He only gave himself a moment to recover, gloved fingertip hovering over the harmless trigger as he pushed it back in.

BANG.

The sound did not register at first, as muffled as it was, and then a searing pain, far worse than the initial entry, throbbed deep inside of him. Lazard swallowed. His throat was dry, mouth like a desert, the action in and of itself difficult. He was afraid to move.

A trickle of warm blood running over his hand, which still gripped the gun, spurred him into motion.

Lazard pulled the gun out gingerly, feeling a rush of more blood as he did so. His breathing was ragged. It burned. Putting his legs down, he stood, falling into his desk. He put the gun down on the glass surface, staring at it. The safety had been pushed back down, turned off, at some point, probably in the initial entry. He should have expected Tseng to have it on a hairpin trigger.

Shaking, Lazard pulled up his pants, shakily fastening them. He needed to get to the medical bay, needed to find someone he could bribe into silence, one way or another.

His steps were stumbling at best, footing shaky as he hurried out of his office, down the hall to the elevator. He missed the slider on his first attempt, finally getting his card through the slot, getting it to read. It felt like forever, the pound of blood against his temples a painful drum keeping the seconds in check. He could feel a warm trickle of blood slithering down his legs, painting his life across pale skin.

The moments were ticking away.

The loud ding of the elevator was like a gong against his ears, Lazard staggering into the elevator, hazily slamming his gloved, red fingers against the number he needed. It was a miracle that he hit it. Sweat, just moments ago beads over his clammy skin, was streaming down his face, flicking off his strong jaw line.

With a jolt, the elevator came to a stop at his destination, the jarring cessation of motion bringing a cringe. His legs were trembling. It was difficult to get forward momentum again, Lazard barely managing to get walking again. It was more like a half run, an urgent race for his life, flooding away with every wasted moment.

Everything went black.

Lazard shook his head, hazy vision coming back. He was on his knees on the hall, blood splattered on the austere floor before him. Lazard wiped his lips. There was a red smear across the back of his glove. He tried to stand, hands fumbling for some purchase on the smooth metal walls, finding no such salvation. Instead he crawled, dragging himself.

Roughly, Lazard banged on the first door he came to. He didn't know who's office it was. He didn't care.

The door opened. An arm was around him. Lazard let his head lull to the side, against a shoulder. It was not a boney shoulder, a good amount of flesh, a layer of fat, padding the space. He could vaguely make out a yellow shirt, red letters on it. His glasses were barely hanging to the tip of his clammy nose, not that they would have helped. Nothing would focus.

Before he knew it, he was on a table. The form with the yellow shirt was standing next to him, getting together something or another.

"Director Lazard, what happened?" The voice was worried, deep-ish, but not overly so. He recognized that voice.

"Hollander?" The name was an effort to get out. Lazard tried to sit up, one of Hollander's pudgy hands pushing him back down. He opened his mouth to speak again, nothing but a gurgled rasp coming out.

Not waiting any longer, Hollander set to work. Lazard did not know what he was doing; he only hoped that whatever it was, it would save his life.

0 0 0 0 0

Midgar felt frightfully far away from the world, from the planet's core, as if it was sitting on massive metal stilts, afraid to touch it. That was not so, though. Aeris could feel the siphons reaching down into the world, sucking out the famed "mako energy", the lifestream. She could feel the planet crying.

No place within Midgar felt further away from Gaia than the ShinRa Tower. It really was build far, far away from the land, on the upper plate, extending out like a massive beacon aimed at the moon. Supposedly, from the top of the tower, one could see the stars, if only faintly. She was not allowed up there, otherwise she would have tried to confirm the rumor.

Instead she found herself wandering the cold metal and glass hallways of the ShinRa tower. People gave her strange looks. She was sure they were wondering why a young girl was wandering around in the facility, but none of them stopped to question her, nor did they call security. Aeris did not want a conflict, so she was glad for the ignorance.

This was where her father worked, when he was away from home, trying to live a life that was a mask. Her mother had explained it to her, if only vaguely. Right now, her mother was somewhere far above her in the tower, with a man named Hojo. Aeris knew that name. It was the man who had come with the infantrymen to get her and her mother. The man who had ordered her father's death.

Though most of the people seemed to be ignoring her, allowing her to sate her curiosity, Aeris could feel eyes upon her. It was hard to miss. People were like glowing points of light in a world of death here, the vitality in them glowing with a warmth the building, the city itself, lacked. Aeris knew someone was following her, watching her, but she cared as little as the passer bys cared about her.

Turning around another corner, Aeris found herself faced with another elevator. Every time she went in there, she was tempted to press the higher buttons, but she did not have the key card for authorization. It was best if she just went back to her room, or went to wander around Midgar. Hojo probably wouldn't like that…

Sighing, Aeris sat on the bench, next to a potted plant, the only vegetation she had seen since she got in Midgar. She ran a hand through the leaves, smiling faintly to herself. Someone took good care of this plant. She wondered who. Leaning back against the wall, feet swinging freely in the air, Aeris held on to a branch, eyes closed, just concentrating on it.

If only she had something to take care of, like a plant, flowers, something, she might not be so bored during the day, she might not be so reluctant to stay in the ShinRa tower, in Midgar all together. Yes, the frozen tundra of Modeoheim was hardly the place to grow a plant, but Midgar was in a more temperate zone. This place was perfect, and yet, at the same time, it really wasn't.

She would try anyway. If this plant could survive, others could too.

Something broke her concentration. It was like a cord had snapped, the plant's life force suddenly recoiling from her soothing touch. Aeris opened her eyes to just slits, watching as she saw a form in black leather go by, silver hair streaming behind him. Sephiroth.

Aeris waited for him to pass by, slowly easing herself off the high chair. She was no sneak-master, so she would have to keep her distance, though from what she heard, it would not matter.

Everyone in the ShinRa building seemed to have something to say about Sephiroth. Most of it was reverence. They all seemed to look up to him like a hero of some sort; she did not know what for, seeing as she heard SOLDIERs dealt with monsters, but little else. Many others feared Sephiroth, for his prowess on the battlefield, for his abnormal look.

She knew why he looked so strange. She could feel the blood of the Calamity pulsing through his veins. She couldn't get to close. Her thundering heart, the mounting fear, would not allow it. It was not a mental fear. Supposedly Sephiroth was a kind—if reserved—person. It was a biological fear, her cells knowing the sort of danger they were in as she trailed him, following him this way and that down the hallways.

Soon he came to a stop, in front of a library. Aeris ducked around the corner, peering out behind the metal edge as he slid a keycard, the little red light above the door flickering to a green one. Sephiroth went inside, the door sliding shut, red once more.

Aeris slowly came out from around the corner, wandering into the main chamber. There were quite a few clusters of smaller rooms inside, all with libraries. Why a SOLDIER, known for his sword more than his mind, would need to read was beyond her, but then again, she did not know him. It was not right of her to judge.

Minutes passed. There was no sign of Sephiroth emerging any time soon. With a sigh, Aeris went back about her way. Her mother was due out of the test chambers any moment, so she needed to get back where she was left in the first place.

0 0 0 0 0

The field was bright, sun just peeking over the far hills, casting long shadows and long rays. The green grass rippled in the slight breeze, just cold enough to cool off hot skin during a rigorous work-out. The small group of new Thirds was there, sparring out in the open air. Currently, the training room on the SOLDIER floor was in use, so they were out here, which was fine.

This group was not under Sephiroth's charge, but he was there regardless. This group was promising, to say the least. Director Lazard, Hojo, Hollander, President ShinRa himself, they were all watching this group—two members of it—with keen interest. Sephiroth could not help but be curious as well.

Sephiroth kept back, black gloved hands clasped behind him, back straight, hair rippling in the breeze as he watched through mako green eyes. His face was kept stoic, though there was a flicker of interest in those bright eyes. No one could miss it.

Rico, SOLDIER First Class, an ox of a man, walked out of the throng of dueling SOLDIERs, a pleased look painted on his face. He laced his gloved fingers together, popping his knuckles with a quick stretch. "Like what you see?" Rico turned when he came up beside Sephiroth, hangs hanging at his sides now.

As to the answer of that question, Sephiroth was not sure yet. His eyes roamed over the small crowd of SOLDIERs, five pairs of them, noting stances which needed correcting, moves orchestrated too slowly. Finally his critical gaze locked on the last two, a little further away from the rest, in both location and skill level.

A SOLDIER in Third blue was flipped, flying through the air. He tucked into a roll, coming out onto his feet, springing back into attack. That was Genesis, the faster of the two, Sephiroth had noticed. The redhead was quick, but not quick enough. From there, Sephiroth could see the glossy sheen of sweat starting to glaze Genesis' face, arms. He still had a long way to go.

Angeal was slightly slower, but his strength made up for it. He was a good hand-to-hand combatant, and could definitely throw another SOLDIER with ease. However, he could not dance around someone else's attacks like Genesis could, so he had to block those he could, take the other hits, which he could handle with his already existent muscle mass. They were an interesting, if severely mismatched, duo.

Rico was staring expectantly at Sephiroth, rocking back and forth on his booted feet. Sephiroth unclasped his hands, crossing his arms over his chest. "No. They could be doing better."

"Oh? They're Firsts, just started. They'll learn. They haven't even had their first mako treatments yet—"

"Hewley and Rhapsodos have had mako treatments, as well as exposure to material and combat before their acceptance to SOLDIER." Sephiroth pursed his lips, continuing to watch them. They were the best two out of that group in combat, that was certain, and Genesis surpassed everyone else in the knowledge division, but they were not as good as they could be.

Sephiroth knew this from experience.

"They aren't you, Sephiroth—"

"They might as well be. I've read their files, Rico." Sephiroth glanced over, eyes flashing silver in the light. "If they do not show severe improvement in the next week, I am going to request the Director transfer them into my direct tutelage."

The smug smile on Rico's lips melted immediately, brows drawing in. There was anger smoldering in his eyes, but he would not say anything. Rico might have been older, but Sephiroth had achieved First Class before him, and was in a position of more command than Rico as well.

Initially, Sephiroth had not wanted anything to do with the duo. They were creations of Hollander, who was in direct competition with Hojo, the man who dealt with him. Hojo's cold shoulder after Gast's death had definitely sparked something.

Yes, they were in competition, but Sephiroth wanted it to be a fair fight, which it currently wasn't. He would level the playing field as best he could. The rest was up to Genesis and Angeal.


	14. Chapter XIII: Butting Heads

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Crisis Core, Final Fantasy, or any of the related characters. I do not make money from this. I merely have fun writing AU and coming up with my own plots and side characters.

**Warning:** AU via Gast surviving a lot longer, yaoi, insinuations of yaoi, adult situations and language, alcohol, cigarettes, ethical issues, medical experimentation, me having too much fun.

**Author's Note: **I'm totally procrastinating on my book deadline and Script Frenzy right now. I reread through A Memory of Falling (wow, I didn't realize it was actually good, like whoa) and this story (not as good, but still interesting), and decided what the hell, I want to play some more.

**AN2: **R&R is always cherished and does make me write more, because it keeps me inspired on the story. Even my favorite stories die without R&R. Please don't bug me about a next chapter, though. I'm so freakin' busy at this point I probably shouldn't even be doing this.

**A SOUL SEEKING HOLY**

**Chapter XIII: Butting Heads**

Genesis dropped to the floor in a dodge, grunting as he hit the practice mat a little harder than intended. His whole body was slicked with sweat, the helmet on his head like a sauna. He wanted to rip it off, to throw it at the wall, but knew he couldn't. SOLDIER First Class Rico, their new trainer, was not only ruthless, but a stickler for rules, which he seemed to enforce the most on him.

Rolling his eyes behind the safety of his helmet, Genesis pushed himself up, going back through the routine of blocks and attacks Rico had shown them out in the field. It was easier than the routine Sephiroth made them do. Genesis wouldn't have even been sweating had Rico not been drilling them for the last three hours.

He glanced to the clock. Rico still had them for another ten minutes.

Groaning, Genesis dropped to the floor, pushing himself up, doing the spins and kicks and deflections with a flawless sort of precision, matched only by Angeal. The other students were jokes compared to them, but then again, who wasn't? Other than Sephiroth, of course.

It felt wrong getting trained by the SOLDIER he had bested in the conditioning room.

"SOLDIERs! At attention!" Rico snapped the words, making slow paces at the front of the training room. His hands were tucked behind his back, behind that coveted black uniform. The severe frown on his face almost makes him look like a bulldog, a thought which nearly draws a chuckle from Genesis. He has to fight hard not to laugh.

They all move into line, standing at attention, saluting.

Though Genesis can see Rico's eyes slide across the line, he can tell the SOLDIER First Class is staring through them, as though they do not even exist. That look makes a fire spark in his heart, makes his pulse quicken.

He wanted to make sure _no one_ could look through him.

Genesis glanced back at the clock, careful not to turn his head in the motion. It was almost time. Silence held the training room, silence and heaved breaths. His own breathing had slowed, though his heart was still on its way down. He wished he could walk it out, slow his pulse in the correct way, not by being suddenly stagnant. He wished someone would slap Rico up the head.

"Dismissed."

Genesis turned immediately, ready to go, like everyone else. He put his hands on the sides of his helmet, hoisting it off and sucking in deep breaths of air. He shook his head, flicking sweat in every direction. His hair settled in a damp form of its usual arrangement, chaotic and free and crimson from the sweat.

"Except for you two."

Rico was pointing at he and Angeal.

It took all of his willpower not to just leave, not to throw his helmet straight at Rico or the wall or something. Genesis gritted his teeth, turning again to stand at attention. He spoke through a clenched jaw. "Yes, Sir?"

Angeal even saluted again. Genesis did not follow in suit. Soon enough, he planned on passing Rico entirely, and then the bulldog of a man would be saluting to _him_.

"You two aren't trying hard enough."

The words were like a slap. Genesis gaped openly, just as Angeal hung his head in defeat. No! That couldn't be!

"Excuse me, Sir, but we are doing everything up to your specifications." Genesis gave a mock salute at the end of his sentence, glaring the man down with his shining blue eyes.

Rico glared right back, his own sapphire and dangerous. "Try harder, or there will be consequences." He growled the words before leaving, not even dismissing them a second time. Once the door whirred shut behind him, Genesis knew the coast was clear, pulling his friend out with them.

Maybe if Rico was actually a half decent fighter, he'd be able to push them hard enough.

0 0 0 0 0

"Pack your things." Ilfana put a bag on the small cot of a bed, pulling it open. She stared at the far wall, honey brown brows knit together, jaw taut. It was all she could do to not cry. "Pack them."

Aeris looked up at her from her perch at the small window. It was like a jail cell. That's all Ilfana could compare it to. A metal cell. Or a tomb. That almost had her choking on a sob, Ilfana fighting to keep her resolution strong.

This was the place where Gast had lived most of his life, where he worked, where he spent his time away from them, and yet it was so horrible, so confining. She could not feel the world, could not feel the lifestream. It was like the lifestream was dead, or dying at the very least.

She lowered her head, staring at her feet, the simple shoes on them. She would not wear her nice shoes. She could not bring herself to, now that she had no one to wear them for.

"You have to go now. There will not be another chance." Ilfana shook the bag, the buckles on it jingling loudly.

Finally, Aeris hopped down.

"I do not want to leave you here." She touched Ilfana's bare arm. That hand was warm, pulsing with life. Ilfana gathered her head in her arms, pulling her close. It was probably the last hug they would have together. Her vision clouded. She quickly wiped away her tears before any could fall. She did not want Aeris to see her crying.

"This is what your father would have wanted, if he knew." Ilfana pressed a kiss on the top of Aeris' head. "And whatever you do, always keep that ribbon on you." Ilfana stroked her hair, touching the ribbon, the white materia hidden by the pink cloth. "It will protect you."

Aeris nodded. Finally, she started packing. It was Ilfana's time to stare out the window. She wished she could see the sun, the moon, the stars, something to tell her what time it was. From her senses, which were dulling by the day, she knew the Turk, the one who had tried to save Gast, would be there soon for Aeris. He would take her somewhere safe, away from the tower. She was thankful for him.

She clasped her hands, praying for their safety and for their success.

0 0 0 0 0

Sephiroth did not look up from the file he was typing, even as a long shadow crossed his desk. From the knock, from the gait of the one who entered, he knew who it was. Sephiroth was not particularly pleased Rico was there, but knew this had to be dealt with at some time or another.

"I have two SOLDIER Third Classes who are guilty of insubordination." Rico stood at ease on the other side of Sephiroth's glass desk, hands behind his back, feet spread to shoulder's width, which was wide for him. "I am here to file a request that they be removed from the SOLDIER program."

To that, Sephiroth frowned, his eyes narrowing, the slits of his pupils retracting. He missed a key while typing. For the first time in a while, he pressed the Backspace key, gaze locked on the screen.

He knew which two SOLDIERs Rico referred to and he did not like it one bit.

The last thing he had wanted today was to butt heads, but it seemed like he was being given no choice.

Sephiroth smoothed the manila folder of the file shut before him, black gloved hand resting atop it for a moment. He still did not look up, gaze fixed on the glass outer rim of his desk. If looks could cause harm, the desk might have shattered at this point.

Tilting his head to the side, he finally spoke, voice rolling like black velvet, but with an edge as dangerous as the Masamune, "And what foundation do you base these… _allegations_ on?" Sephiroth chose his words carefully, knowing exactly what affect they would have.

These were just allegations. Unfounded allegations.

It seemed like Rico was buckling under the pressure.

Rico shifted his stance, clasping and unclasping his hands. His frown deepened. He was not an attractive man to begin with, that frown only accentuating that fact. Sephiroth slid the file to the side, the swoosh the only sound, though Sephiroth could faintly hear Rico's hike in blood pressure.

With Gast gone, the race for the new head of the Science Department was on. He'd been getting twice the amount of mako, and it was showing.

"These SOLDIERs do not respond to direct verbal commands." Rico started, his voice wobbling just the slightest bit. No one else would have noticed it, if anyone was there to hear. But they were alone, Sephiroth's ears alone picking it up. "They are reserved in training, despite commands to push themselves."

Sephiroth sat back in his chair, finally looking Rico in the eyes. The man barely suppressed a cringe.

The silver haired teen did not want to inspire fear… normally. Right now was one of those rare occasions where he wanted—no, needed—to intimidate.

Sephiroth stood, the motion graceful, coming to his full height, just a little taller than Rico. Sephiroth looked down on him, ashen lips drawn into a frown of his own, though it barely disturbed his pristine, cold features.

"Have you ever considered that you are the one who is not up to par?"

Rico's eyes widened.

"I watched the videos of your training sessions with the new SOLDIER Third Classes." Sephiroth's left hand clenched, trembling ever so slightly. Rico's gaze flew to that hand. Sephiroth could hear his heart rate hitch again. "The two SOLDIERs in question push themselves harder than the rest of the class. They do more rounds of your routines and they are the fastest to master said routines."

Rico did not move. It was almost as if the SOLDIER was holding his breath.

"Will I be making the call to the Director, or will you?"

Rico shakily reached into his pants pocket, pulling out his phone, which he opened, dialing a number with trembling fingers. Rico put the phone on speaker, holding it so he could still speak into the microphone, but the speaker on the other side would be heard.

"_Yes?"_ Lazard's voice purred on the other side of the line. It was not as impatient sounding as Sephiroth had at first hoped.

"SOLDIER First Class Rico Licosa requesting a reassignment."

Sephiroth could hear Lazard choke on whatever he was drinking on the other side of the line. He had to fight hard not to let any form of smile creep onto his lips.

"I believe there are two SOLDIERs in my class who are… ready to move on to more intense instruction."

As awkward as this was going to be, considering the… _moment_ he and Genesis had together, it was probably for the best. Angeal and Genesis were too skilled for someone else to handle, too enhanced. The normal SOLDIERs would have no idea what to do with them.

Sephiroth would. They were one of a kind, his kind. It was time for them to start receiving that sort of treatment.

"_Angeal Hewley and Genesis Rhapsodos, I am guessing?"_

"Yes, Director."

"_I do not want to start a war in the Science Department over—"_

"Director, they will not develop to their full potential unless they are under proper supervision, the likes of which _this_ SOLDIER cannot give." Sephiroth spoke coolly, calmly, the silence on the other side suggesting Lazard was listening intently.

The Director made a humming noise, as though considering.

"_I will put in the transfer immediately."_ The Director paused. Sephiroth knew something else was coming. _"As long as you handle all the backlash which is bound to come from both sides, Hollander and Hojo."_

"Deal."

Sephiroth sat back down, beginning to type again as soon as he got the file opened.

Rico hung up the phone, putting it back in his pocket. He was still standing there. Sephiroth paused, frowning again.

"You are dismissed."

"Sir—"

"I said _you are dismissed_." Sephiroth removed his hands from the keyboard, looking up, mako bright eyes flashing a deadly silver. "Unless you want me to file an insubordination report to the Director, himself."

Rico turned immediately, leaving.

With a sigh, Sephiroth sunk into his chair, closing his eyes. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. What had he just gotten himself into?


End file.
